


But, I can't wait to go home

by larryisrealbro



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Harry from the West Coast, Harry is lovely and smiles at strangers on trains, I like this because I get to write a lot of Louis POV, Louis has a lovely coat, Louis pines but doesn't know he's pining, Louis' is from South Jersey, M/M, Minor Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, Niall Horan & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Niall and Louis are best buds!, Niall is a blonde angel bathed in sunlight, Not my strongest title but whatever, Zayn Malik & Louis Tomlinson Friendship, Zayn has the hots for Harry, and my last two ones were almost both Harry POV's at the beginning, they're both American
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-09 16:29:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 55,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10416327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larryisrealbro/pseuds/larryisrealbro
Summary: The boy with the familiar accent is staring directly at him, and smiling with something that looks like recognition. The train jolts into life, and Louis thinks that maybe the eye contact has gone on for long enough, but he can’t seem to stop looking. The boy’s smile broadens into something like a grin, and then it looks like a chuckle emerges from him, and Louis is grinning back, resisting the urge to flip off a complete stranger on a train.Just as the carriage slides out of view, the boy sticks up a hand in a wave, and Louis responds, feeling elated.And then the train is gone, and Louis thinks that he will have to make being late a permanent change to his lifestyle.…Louis and Harry in London. All lies. Multi-chapter. SFW. Who knows.





	1. Part One

…

After two weeks, Louis decides that humans probably can’t die from too many new things happening at once. 

Otherwise he would probably have been a tragic statistic;  _ another boy that’s been living in America fails to acclimatize to London living and keels over from sensory overload. _

But it is a great deal of new at once, Louis decides, and he’s excused that constant feeling of just about fighting off a panic attack.

A new job, new home, new city and new country all at once is a bit much, probably even for the sturdiest of personalities. And Louis has only cried two times since he arrived - once when he first unlocked the door of the apartment (studio flat, he reminds herself) and had discovered that ‘semi furnished’ meant ‘we’ll give you the bed frame but no mattress’. And the other time when he’d gotten very lost on his way back from work, and had to ask the least scary stranger on the sidewalk (pavement) for directions. The tiny woman had stared at Louis as if he was dumb, and then pointed at the street sign just across the road, because it turns out that Louis had been lost and panicking for a half hour all the while only being twenty yards away from his building.

Only two cries in two weeks feels like a massive success. And now that he’s managed to sort out contact with home, attached himself to the internet, figured out where to buy food from, and done his first week at work, Louis is feeling almost secure. Almost safe.

Willesden is very different from South Jersey.

Louis hadn’t been back to London in ten years. But things had felt stale, and his personal life was stalling, and so when his boss Jeremy had offered him a nine month internship with a branch of studios in London that he was looking to build links with, Louis had said yes, and vowed to save the inevitable freak out until he arrived in Britain.

He’s not sure how long freak outs are due to last, but he figures that it can’t be the full nine months.

A sudden change in the motion of the train jolts Louis out of his introspection, and the announcement confirms that Willesden Green is the next stop. Louis double checks his bag, and then stands, easing his way along the crowded carriage to be by the doors when they slide open.

It’s cold. Louis makes a mental note to try and buy a thicker jacket, because although he knew that early February in England would be cold, he had not prepared himself for near Arctic conditions.

…

It’s a long weekend. Louis doesn’t recognize a single store on the Willesden main retail street, but ducks into a few anyway, hoping to randomly come across a coat that doesn’t look like a) part of a strippergram outfit, and b) it’s about to fall to pieces.

After an hour of abrupt shopping visits, in which Louis buys three hats and two scarfs just because he doesn’t want the shop keepers to think he is shop-lifting, a clothing shop looms onto the horizon that does actually contain the sort of coats Louis would consider wearing. Louis tries on three, before settling on a knee length blue one with the sort of buttons that apparently exist only in fairy tales and London.

He can’t help but feel pretty pleased with himself though, to have found the shops and made a successful clothing purchase, all before the brief hours of daylight allowed in February vanish entirely. The wind blows relentlessly, and Louis hurries home, thinking about how cold weather used to seem romantic, before he experienced drizzle that arrived sideways.

…

“Hey Mom.”

“Louis! Hello - are you okay? Have you been eating enough vegetables?”

Louis looks at the empty tin of vegetable soup on his counter, which had been his dinner. Close enough.

“Yes.”

His mom sighs, that one word answer having relieved him of a world of worries. The connection isn’t great though, and Louis tries very hard to not feel like he is on the other side of the world.

“Tell me about work then - did it go okay? Have you made any friends?”

Louis restrains from snorting at him, because he’s trying to make steps in his career, not make a splash on his first day of kindergarten, and answers as thoroughly as he knows his mom needs.

The studios at home that Louis finds he still thinks of as his ‘real job’ have attached him to a network of studios that all seem to occupy a three mile space south of the Thames. It’s essentially glorified work experience, and Louis can see that he is mainly going to be deployed as a runner, unless he can really prove himself to the fashionably dressed production managers that schedule his day.

The idea is that he makes contacts for his home studios, because South Jersey isn’t really a hub of media production and London very much is. So his home studios pay for his accommodation and a living allowance. The London network benefits from free labor. And Louis gets to see how things are done here. And gets to make whatever he can of this opportunity.

And gets to be away from his real life, for nearly a year.

So he tells his mom about the people that he’s met, and the wide variety of facial hair, and the two other junior assistants who have been taken on at the same time as him. He reassures her that yes he is eating lunch, and no he has not been attacked yet.

His mom sounds relieved, and Louis can’t help but agree.

“But have you made any friends yet?”

Louis makes a face at his phone, because no he has not, and he doubts he ever will at work, because things there are competitive and slightly terrifying. And the rest of his time has been occupied with furnishing his flat with at least the basics, and not getting lost.

“No mom - not yet. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

“Have you tried just smiling at people? While you are on the train? Strike up a conversation.”

Louis is pretty sure that smiling at people on the tube and then striking up a conversation is a sure-fire way to result in someone ejaculating into his coat pocket, but he breezes over that.

“It’s not really a thing that is done; chatting on the tube. I’ll bear it in mind though. Thank you.”

“I’m just worried about what you will do on your weekends - am I the first person that you have spoken to properly today?”

Louis sighs restlessly, because yes he is, but that doesn’t mean he is a recluse.

“I guess… look, I’ll look into joining a club, or something. Yoga, something like that.”

Louis has zero intentions of actually acting on that statement of intent, but it seems to be enough for his mom, who moves the conversation on to the neighbors, and the unruly manner in which they seem to be allowing their hedges to grow. This is a well worn theme, but Louis lets his mom chunter on despite the high phone bill, because home comforts are few and far between, at the moment.

…

He spends the entirety of Sunday in his bed, watching the very small television in the corner.

He is not a recluse.

…

When Louis' alarm fails to sound, the following Monday morning, Louis swears three time in a row, and plunges desperately into the chilly routine of getting ready for work. 

It’s a ten minute walk to the station, which Louis manages to turn into a five minute run, and he’s now too hot in his long coat, but does just make it to the platform as a train is readying itself to leave. Louis jumps onto the last carriage, feeling like a naughty school boy, because usually he is standing neatly on the platform near the head of the train, where he thinks the carriages will be the quietest. 

This one still has seats available though, and Louis sits in one gratefully. The man opposite him with a suitcase resting on his knees gives him a pinched look, but that’s the extent of it. Louis spends a moment looking out of the window over his shoulder, breathing heavily, before opening up his bag, ready to identify what crucial item he has managed to forget.

…

By the first stop, Louis has failed to make any new friends, but has managed to avoid eye contact with seventeen strangers.

By the second stop, West Hampstead, which connects with another line, Louis knows that this will be the last place that there are any seat lefts until he arrives at Southwark. People pile on, and dart into the remaining seats, looking cold and tired and as though summer can’t come soon enough.

Louis shifts to one side as the man next to him opens up his newspaper with something of a flourish, and then looks up, when an accent catches his ear.

“Good morning Mr Johnson!”

It’s west coast, and Louis would hazard that it originates from a place in the USA that is as far from South Jersey as it is possible to be without being Alaska or Hawaii, but the inflection is overwhelmingly comforting, right now.

A gentleman that Louis can only assume is Mr Johnson looks up at the greeting, and nods a brief acknowledgement at the young man who owns the accent. He has curly brown hair, and a warm scarf that looks like heaven.

“Weather is awful, huh?”

There’s a general air of restrained agreement from the other passengers, but it is all tightly British, and Louis can tell that early morning cheery conversations are not this carriage’s idea of a good time.

The curly haired man looks around undeterred, and smiles a few times at various characters on the seats that Louis guesses he must have had interactions with before. Nobody seems to be playing along though, and when the green eyes flicker in Louis' direction, he lowers his gaze, anxious to not be caught staring.

The train shudders into life again, and there is a barely audible sigh. When Louis sneaks another look, the curly-haired man has taken out his phone, is frowning at it with a look of concentration on his face.

Make friends, his mom had said.

Louis tries to make friends with the boy by sending overwhelming vibes of  _ Hi hello I am american too please don’t ejaculate in my pocket although you don’t seem the sort wow I wish I’d never mentioned that _ , which the curly haired boy inexplicably doesn’t pick up on.

Starting a conversation is entirely out of the question, as more and more people squeeze on with every stop. The boy is only standing three feet away, but he might as well be across the ocean for all that Louis can initiate communication. Louis considers starting to hum the Star Spangled Banner under his breath, but decides that this is something only a maniac would do.

…

After thirty minutes, the train reaches Southwark, and this is Louis' stop. He has a brief flicker of hope that the american boy is also alighting at Southwark, but no, he’s just moving to one side to allow Louis to pass. Louis manages to smile in a bland thanks, making brief eye contact with eyes that are somehow greener than any others he has seen in London so far, but then he’s on the platform, and Monday has begun.

Great job Louis.

…


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody!  
> Thank you for reading :)

**…**

The day is busy, and Louis almost forgets that he was running late that morning. Except he doesn’t, because he spends the entire day feeling slightly behind and slightly off balance, as though he still can’t fully catch up with himself.

There’s a rain that persists throughout the day until mid-afternoon, a very fine mist that doesn’t fully solidify into droplets, but instead just gives Louis an impression of what it would be like to be inside a cloud.

The streets are grey, and the sky seems very far away. Louis tries to enjoy the novelty of the red double decker buses that sail through the damp streets, because they seem to be the only color around.

He thinks that maybe this area of London could be attractive, maybe, if the sun was out. The clothes worn here are expensive, and Louis discovers at lunch time that the coffee prices match.

Southwark station appears to have no time which  _ isn’t  _ rush hour, that Louis can tell. He doesn’t so much step into the carriage that comes to a rest in front of him as  _ press  _ his way on, into the body odors and the constant fear of pocket ejaculation.

It takes around forty minutes to get to his home station - after twenty he can usually get himself a seat, although not always. This time he is lucky, and it is only ten minutes before the gentleman in front of him stands and squeezes around him, so that Louis can slump gratefully into his seat.

The boy from America isn’t in his carriage, but that would be completely ridiculous, Louis reminds himself, to come across the boy again. Trains on this line are frequent, and there are numerous carriages per train, and London is enormous. The odds are crazy.

It’s a long time to sit and think, about a boy who Louis has never spoken to. But he does so, all the way home, because the boy had seemed friendly and lord knows the idea of a friend is pretty great right now.

Louis has toast for dinner; he figures that healthy eating can wait until he’s established where the nearest Whole Foods is.

After an hour of watching some  _ really  _ intense British drama series (seriously, why is everyone so sad?) Louis does some googling, and he discovers that there are only four Whole Food stores in this entire soggy country.

He goes to bed homesick.

…

Louis wakes up before his alarm.

It’s as though his brain has been running all night, busily evaluating the problem, and it presents its findings to Louis, as he blinks at the white walls and tries to eek out the remaining warmth in his comforter.

He has a far better chance of seeing American boy in the mornings.

The reasoning has multiple lines. No one gets onto commuter traffic unless they can’t avoid it, and this suggests that the boy has a job in the city. If it is a regular job, then the boy has a regular routine; one which involves him getting on a train at around the time that Louis' train goes through that station. 

And finally, because of the way that the boy had greeted a couple of passengers, Louis draws the hesitant conclusion that the boy, along with a number of other passengers, must always jump into the same carriage on the train. The back one. They probably even have certain spots on the platform that they stand on while waiting - habit taught by morning routines that run like clockwork.

So the odds aren’t ridiculous, Louis decides, as he throws back the covers, of him bumping into the American boy again, maybe. If he gets on the last carriage of his train.

…

Of course, Louis realizes, as he sits down and cradles his bag in his lap, this doesn’t solve the problem of how to begin speaking to the boy.

The journey is hardly silent - the train rumbles along noisily, and there is nearly always at least three people on their phones. And there is usually always at least one pair of people who know each other, and chat away quietly. But even that background noise is not going to mask Louis' awkward first attempts at conversation. No matter what he does he will have an audience of at least ten bored and incredulous strangers (because seriously; who strikes up conversations on trains? Nobody in Britain, from what Louis has observed.)

His heart beats faster, as the train pulls into West Hampstead station. His palms prickle and Louis is aware of no conversation starters other than  _ I like your scarf _ .

It had been thick, and patterned with the kind of green that reminds Louis of spring mornings, looking out over the ocean. And it had matched the boy’s eyes.

Twelve people board his carriage at West Hampstead. None of them are wearing that scarf, because none of them are that boy.

Louis feels a fool, for the excess of nervous energy that is sloshing around his veins, looking for a reason to be there.

…

Louis tries extra hard to make friends with his co-workers, that day. Because pinning all his social interaction hopes on a chance encounter with that one friendly seeming boy with the scarf and the familiar accent is stupid. And a poor excuse, if he’s ever heard one.

_ No, mom, I haven’t made any friends yet, I’m waiting to run into a potential friend on the train again. _

It’s difficult to make friends at work though. Louis' mentor/supervisor, a sharp suited man called Abdul, who Louis worries might be younger than him, is still sending him off to new places in the SW1 area, new locations and studios and offices.  This network of the production company seems never-ending, and Louis is meeting new people every day, as he picks stuff up or drops stuff off or dashes out to collect oddly specific lunch orders.

And although the two other runners are equally new, they both grew up in London, and so at least know the basics of where everything is, and what stores are likely to stock particular items. Louis feels at a disadvantage, even though they are friendly enough when he asks for advice. One of them, Liam, has a little scooter that he zooms about on whenever he is sent out for anything, and Louis thinks that this should probably make him a dick, but instead it just makes him really cool, and Louis refuses to be jealous of nineteen year olds, no matter how cool they are, or how perfectly their hair sits.

The other runner, Zayn, is closer to his age, but he is also devastatingly cool, and has tattoos of flowers and sailors in pouty poses all the way up his arms, and Louis has never met anyone with an ironic tattoo before. They’ve already shared coffee a couple of times, during which time Louis listens to Zayn chat about the bands he’s seen and his gap year in Peru and the colors that he plans on dying his hair next. Louis feels very pedestrian, in comparison, and doesn’t talk much, because he is worried about seeming boring. At least if he doesn’t say much about himself, he has a fighting chance of coming across as mysterious instead.

Neither Liam or Zayn are the sort of people Louis would normally be friends with, but he firmly tells himself that they are the best hope that he’s got. So that day, when Zayn casually suggests exchanging numbers, Louis nods firmly, reaching for the UK phone that he was given by the studio on arrival, and typing in the number carefully.

Maybe Louis will return to South Jersey with a sudden interest in cool bands and ironic tattoos.

Or maybe he won’t. 

…

On the way home, sitting silently on the tube, Louis' brain presents him with a small reminder.

The day that he’d seen the American boy, Louis had been running  _ late _ .

That’s a terrifying thought, the idea of choosing to be late, but then again Abdul seems pretty flexible about his hours, and really he is only arriving at eight because he has told himself to arrive at eight. He could always stay fifteen minutes later at the end of the day.

…

“Hi Mom.”

“Hello darling, have you eaten yet?”

“Yes - and I’m warm enough.”

“Good. Have you made any friends yet?”

“Yes, hundreds, they say hi.”

“Real friends Louis… have you joined that yoga class?”

“Um, I was going to do that at the weekend.”

“You know, maybe bake some cup-cakes and take them into work; that’ll help you make friends.”

“Mom I am not taking cup-cakes into work.”

“How are you going to make friends if you aren’t going to put any effort in?”

…

Putting effort in involves setting his alarm for fifteen minutes later.

Louis doesn’t really sleep though, because he is nervous, about everything and nothing, it would seem. So it is a real struggle to stay in bed, to deliberately not allow his nerves to translate into action.

On the train, sitting in the last carriage because coincidences have to be forced, sometimes, Louis looks around anxiously. And even though the American boy isn’t due to get on for another two stops, Louis thinks he  _ might _ recognize some of these passengers, that  _ might _ be the surly Mr Johnson who he shared a carriage with last time.

As the train pulls into West Hampstead Louis reminds himself that this is stupid, and even if the boy does get onto the train, that doesn’t mean Louis has made a friend. Hell, even if he does find a way to talk to him, he probably has nothing in common with this boy. This is not how normal human interactions go.

It doesn’t stop Louis from feeling like Sherlock  _ fucking  _ Holmes though, when the boy with the scarf and the green eyes and the accent steps on to the train, a few feet away from him, because  _ yes _ , fucking  _ nailed it _ .

The boy doesn’t speak to Mr Johnson, this time, and looks slightly wearier, than the last time Louis saw him. He still looks around with inquisitive eyes though, looking for something that Louis can’t identify. For a moment, their eyes meet, and Louis challenges himself to smile, for a split second, before looking away, at nothing. 

Excellent,  _ excellent _ . Now what?

When Louis chances a glance back, the boy is looking out of the window, sitting three seats down the carriage, opposite Louis. The angle is such that Louis can’t look too directly at him, without being really obvious. He frowns slightly, and  _ fuck _ . Can he announce to the boy and the rest of the passengers that he likes his scarf? No, no of course he can’t, because he is Louis and starting conversations is so far out of his comfort zone it might as well be on a different planet.

So much for Sherlock, Louis thinks, frustratedly resigning himself to the role of Watson.

…

Still, Louis decides, this is progress. There must surely be a reasonable chance, now, that if he keeps travelling in at this time, and keeps getting in this carriage, Louis will keep encountering the girl.

All he needs is some kind of freak event in order to have polite small with the boy. Something about… what, too many leaves on the line? Is that a thing that happens in the UK?

The stations flick past, and Louis is lost in his own little world, and feels inexpressibly lonely.

Maybe Louis should do something that’ll make the boy speak to him. Something like… wear a t-shirt with the American flag on it? Would that work? Is he overthinking this? Is this the thought process of a crazy person?

Louis decides that when he gets home tonight he needs to get on Skype, and try to speak to someone at home who isn’t his mom. Someone who is an actual friend of his, rather than an imaginary one, so that Louis can remember that he actually has some of those.

When the train slows as it approaches his stop, Louis resigns himself to not solving this problem in one go. But that’s fine. Louis knows that he has a tendency to see one problem as the solution to many.

This revelation seems to blind Louis to the realities of spatial awareness, and he manages to stumble over Mr Johnson’s briefcase, knocking it over and scattering a few papers across the floor.

Louis thinks he may be more British than he first guessed, because even though the accident is clearly at least fifty percent Mr Johnson’s fault (who leaves their briefcase in the middle of the aisle?), it’s Louis who immediately does all the apologizing.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, here, um, let me…”

Louis scrabbles for the papers, handing them blindly towards Mr Johnson, aware that the train has almost stopped and he is already running late. Mr Johnson is making noises that could be dismissive or grateful or irritated, but Louis can’t really tell, because he’s still talking.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it, I hope I haven’t damaged your case, the finish on this is really nice-”

Louis stands up, aimlessly flapping his hands in an attempt to convey complete contrition, and takes a couple of steps backwards, throwing another few sorrys at Mr Johnson for good measure. He thinks that he is discovering new colors to blush, as he realizes that the entire carriage of passengers is staring at him, with expressions ranging from pity to a kind of bored apathy.

It’s only really when Louis is on the platform that he remembers about the boy with the scarf and the green eyes and the familiar accent. He turns back, just as the train starts moving again.

The boy with the familiar accent is staring directly at him, and smiling with something that looks like recognition. The train jolts into life, and Louis thinks that maybe the eye contact has gone on for long enough, but he can’t seem to stop looking. The boy’s smile broadens into something like a grin, and then it looks like a chuckle emerges from him, and Louis is grinning back, resisting the urge to flip off a complete stranger on a train.

Just as the carriage slides out of view, the boy sticks up a hand in a wave, and Louis responds, feeling elated.

And then the train is gone, and Louis thinks that he will have to make being late a permanent change to his lifestyle.

…


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> Do not get used to daily updates. Instead just appreciate me for the glorious wonder kitty that I am.
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction. All lies. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.

**…**

**Chapter Three**

Louis feels light, for the whole day.

The urge to tell someone about his morning triumph is almost overwhelming, but he knows that he can’t because Louis would prefer to not be labeled as ‘that crazy boy’ this soon into his internship. Louis can just imagine the look on Zayn’s face, when his story reaches a crescendo and the punch line is  _ and then we smiled at each other and he waved at me! _

But it is pleasant, to have something to think about, to have a pleasing new development in his life. There have been lots of new developments in Louis' life recently, and all of them have exclusively been terrifying. The problem of the boy on the train is a very soothing thing to think about, Louis finds.

Louis is sure that the next time he encounters the boy on the train (if that ever happens), he’ll be capable of at least saying hi. And then he’ll have to throw his fate into the lap of the gods, but at least the boy had seemed friendly, and approachable. Louis is very up for being approached.

Louis doesn’t see the boy on the way home, but then of course he doesn’t, for reasons to do with tiny odds, that his brain has already presented to him. Louis feels a bit stupid for being disappointed.

He finds himself looking at the tube map above his head, and trying to guess which of the stops beyond Southwark that the boy gets off at. There’s London Bridge, and then Bermondsey, and then Canada Water, and then Canary Wharf… Louis has heard of London Bridge, and Canary Wharf, but has little to no idea what sort of industries have centers near them. He has a vague idea that Canary Wharf has something to do with money, but what doesn’t, in London?

The boy had looked as though he was dressed for business, in both of the two encounters Louis has had with him. He’d been wearing smart brogues, and suit trousers that had been ironed. Louis thinks that anyone who has the ability to iron their clothes has got a very firm grip on life, and probably has health insurance and a retirement plan already set up.

Wilesden Green comes quicker than Louis expects, and he manages to get off the tube train without tripping over anything. There is a relaxing air of the familiar about his journey home now, and Louis enjoys finding his way back to his studio flat without having to think too hard.

The walls are bare, and there is condensation on both of the two windows that the space gives him. Louis takes off his new blue coat, hangs it up, and immediately puts on two sweaters, because even though the landlord assures him that the strange boxes on the wall that he had called ‘storage heaters’ do work, Louis has yet to see any evidence of this. He thinks that maybe some kind of Satanic ritual might be involved, and the slaughter of livestock in a tribute to the storage heater gods.

He opens up his mac, sends a quick email, and sets about making himself something for dinner that isn’t toast.

…

Skype is one of the miracles of the modern age, Louis decides. How people left home before it was invented, Louis will never know.

He’s eating a dinner of scrambled eggs, and a packet of something called Super Noodles (not that super). It isn’t exactly a culinary triumph, but it is hot and it is filling him up, which is all that is required. It is already dark outside, has been so since he arrived back, and the glow from his macbook is providing one of the main sources of light in the room.

Louis folds his legs underneath him as he waits, watching the screen to see when the icon changes to indicate that he is receiving an incoming call. When it does Louis grins automatically, pressing accept and waiting for the screen to fill with his friend’s face.

The screen changes, and Louis is greeted by a picture of a dick wearing comedy glasses, and almost chokes on his not so super noodles.

“Oh  _ god _ , wha- Niall! Get your balls off my screen!”

A familiar laugh comes ringing out of the speakers, and the image is quickly removed, replaced by Niall, sitting at his couch, looking like he is bathed in sunshine.

“Do you like it? It’s a birthday card - I’m thinking of sending it to Lottie.”

Louis snorts, and nods a few times, saying ‘Yeah, she’ll love it; I know for a fact that she opens all of her cards in front of our parents, so…”

Niall nods appreciatively, glancing at the card again.

“Done. I’ll tell her it was your idea.”

“Please do.”

“So… hello? How are you? Have you met Adele, Colin Firth, or Harry Potter yet?”

Louis sits back in his chair, trying to look as though he is trawling through his memories.

“Ummmm - no. Not yet. Plus Harry Potter doesn’t actually exist.”

“Whatever that’s just what the wizards want you to think and you know it.”

Louis laughs, and ends up grinning fondly at the screen, where Niall is looking exactly like Niall always does, and it is very comforting.

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“You better. So, tell me though. Your mom tells me that you have lovely accommodation, are eating your greens, and have joined a yoga class? Am I right in thinking that all of these are lies?”

Louis laughs, and then nods, not surprised in the slightest that his mom and Niall have been talking, because Niall has been close to an extra family member ever since Louis and Niall were roommates in their first year of college.

“A complete pack of lies. Don’t tell mom though, I don’t want her to come swooping over here and force feeding me kale.”

Niall laughs at that, and then comes closer, squinting at the screen.

“No, but, what time is it there? Why is it so dark?”

Louis glances at the time, and then shrugs.

“It’s just after seven, so the daylight is long gone - I’m trying to not use up my electricity allowance too quickly though; I’m going to start living by candle light like you did when you briefly went through that vampire stage.”

“Okay shut the fuck up I thought that you promised to never talk about that…”

…

It’s good to talk to Niall, about the job and the appalling weather and his tiny little flat. Niall reciprocates, updating Louis about the odd stand up show he does, and the highlights of customer fails at the bar he does shifts at to pay the bills.

“I’m just not sure that South Carolina is ready for me… whatever happened to our plan of a shared apartment in a city of style and culture, post college?”

Louis shrugs, pushing his now empty bowl to one side.

“You know what happened… life got in the way, I guess.”

Niall hums, and clucks a couple of times with his tongue.

“Well, everything happens for a reason. Do you want to talk about that aspect of things yet? Can we stop pretending that this little jaunt to England is anything other than ‘Louis Tomlinson runs away from his future for a while’?”

Louis rolls his eyes, even though he knows that they both know it is true.

“No, I don’t think so. In another conversation, maybe, I’ll let you psychoanalyze my motives all you like.”

“Good, because they’re at thesis level, right now. It’s brewing. I’ll throw together a powerpoint presentation or something, in order to talk you through my findings.”

Louis flips off his screen, smiling despite himself.

“You’re such a dick Niall.”

“I know - it’s a great look on me. But yeah, any time you want to talk about things. Your mom is worried about you.”

Louis sighs dismissively, even though he knows it is a perfectly reasonable response from his mom.

“He’s always worried about me. But yeah, okay. At some point I need to figure out what this is about. For now I just want to get into the routine of London though; I don’t want to think about home.”

Niall nods, reaching just past the screen and taking a drink of what looks like water.

“That’s cool. So keep an eye out for Harry Potter will you? Or that Ginger Prince - he could get it. I’d make a great royal.”

Louis snorts with laughter, and nods.

“Oh sure - the Great British public would embrace you with open arms.”

“You’re damn right… so this was good. We’ll do this again, no? I’ll text you to set up another Skype session.”

Louis shakes his head, and then gestures at the screen.

“No; email is better. My US contract is really limited abroad, and I’ve been using this other phone that work have given me for UK stuff. Texts won’t work, and will just cost us both a small fortune.”

Niall nods, and then taps his temple. 

“Okay, got it. Good plan Tommo. Later, okay?”

Louis smiles at the screen, before sitting up, to turn it off.

“Bye Ni.”

…

He misses Niall, but Louis has missed Niall since they went back home after college, so that isn’t a new ache. Louis can deal with that without feeling sad.

He doesn’t particularly want to think about the topics that Niall was referring to, however, and so turns on his television again, immersing himself in another episode of Tragedy Square, or whatever this show is called.

It’s only when Louis is getting ready for bed does he remember about the boy on the train, and he deliberately sets his alarm late again, thinking that the odds of another encounter have surely reduced from a precarious ‘almost impossible’ to a far more comforting ‘definitely maybe’.

…

There is a bright, watery sunshine, that bathes the streets the next day, and Louis is conscious of a spring in his step, even though it is still cool enough for his coat and his breath still fogs around him.

There must be a train that leaves Willesden Green every six or seven minutes, but Louis has a very precise morning routine, is confident of arriving in that window of time with a certain accuracy.

He thinks about the train boy’s shiny shoes, during the two stop journey between Willesden and West Hampstead, and decides that he must have a very precise morning routine too.  

This point is proved, when the boy steps onto the carriage, and looks around. Louis' head nearly implodes from being caught in an agony of indecision about whether to wave, or whether to pretend he hasn’t noticed the boy at all.

He settles for smiling in recognition, and thankfully the boy isn’t caught in same social etiquette vortex, because he waves, and comes over, leaning on a pole just next to Louis' seat, and smiling down at him.

“Hi - have you recovered from your near death experience yesterday?”

Louis blinks, and then realizes that the boy is referring to his almost pratfall over Mr Johnson’s briefcase, and laughs self consciously.

“Oh! Yeah - I like to get the adrenaline pumping, at the start of my day.”

The boy laughs at Louis' lame joke, and then gestures vaguely at him.

“So, your accent… you’re American, right?”

Louis nods, feeling inexplicably happy that the American common ground has been broached without him having to start singing the national anthem. 

“Yeah; you too?”

“San Francisco - and that’s an East coast accent, right?”

“Right - I’m from South Jersey.”

“Sweet - that’s a nice part of the country, I hear.”

Louis shrugs, unable to give an unbiased assessment of his home state, and just looks up at the boy, smiling.

He really does have very green eyes, and hair that is a faded sort of brown. It’s long, and curly and sits well, in the sort of way that looks very casual. It’s a nice juxtaposition to the smartness of the girl’s outfit, because underneath the grey coat he is wearing Louis can see the collar of a blazer.

Louis realizes that he is just staring at the boy, and clears his throat.

“I like your scarf.”

In the awful, awful, moments that follow, Louis registers that the boy is _not wearing_ _the motherfucking scarf fuck everything his life is over._

“Oh, you mean the one I was wearing yesterday? My mom gave it to me as a leaving gift- it’s really warm.”

Louis nods a couple of times, wondering if his head is on fire yet.

“Yeah, um, I liked the color green in it.”

“Thanks; it’s a bit warmer today, so I thought I’d skip it.”

Louis nods, trying to not look as though casual conversation is difficult for him, but he is acutely aware of the passengers on either side of him. Both have headphones in, and one is reading a paper, but there is no way that they aren’t listening to this stunted conversation.

The boy seems to register his discomfort after a moment, and looks away over his shoulder, a bit further down the carriage, where there are a few empty seats. Louis realizes that there is no way the girl will stand and chat to him, a complete stranger, for the entire journey. The boy looks back, and grins.

“So, is this your regular journey to work?”

Louis nods, and the boy smiles, continuing smoothly.

“Cool, well I’ll probably see you again - I’m going to go grab one of those seats before we get into Finchley. But it was nice to meet you…”

The infliction indicates that the boy is asking for his name, and Louis supplies it gratefully.

“Louis. I’m Louis.”

“Louis. Nice to meet you. My name’s Harry. Have a good day, Louis.”

Louis nods at him, and manages a  _ you too _ , before Harry steps away, settling himself in a seat further down the carriage. Louis breathes out slowly, and makes a significant effort to try and regulate his breathing and not look an utter fool.

His name is Harry.

…

 


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More.
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction. All lies.
> 
> Thank you for reading :)

It’s Friday.

Louis wonders what he will do during the weekend. He really needs to go and buy some actual food, the sort that functional adults eat, rather than this student-y crap that he is existing on.

He also needs to at least make a cursory attempt at finding a yoga class, in order to not be lying quite so outrageously to his mom.

Louis feels a bit lonely, but it is too soon to get back in touch with Niall without causing him to worry, and all of his other friends probably haven’t got that great an opinion of him, right now. Louis worries at this thought, poking at it in the same way that he’d poke at a painful bruise, just to check this the hurt is still there.

It is.

It doesn’t matter though, because he is in London, and things here are looking up.

Louis methodically jumps on the last carriage, and tries not to feel nervous, because there is still no way of guaranteeing that Harry will get on the same train as him, but he feels hopeful, Louis feels so hopeful.

The first thing that Louis checks when Harry jumps on the train at West Hampstead, is that he is wearing his scarf. And yes, yes he is,  _ all systems go Tomlinson! _

“That’s the scarf I meant.”

Harry grins at him, and then miracle of miracles the guy sitting next to Louis stands up to go and wait by the doors for the next stop, and  _ please _ , Louis thinks,  _ please _ .

Harry gestures at the seat next to him.

“Do you mind?”

Louis struggles to not look too happy, as he indicates that yes, it would be completely fine for Harry to sit next to him on the journey in, because this is how people make friends, right?  _ He is doing it _ .

“No, not at all.”

Harry sits down, and then half turns to him, gesturing slightly.

“I meant to say - your coat is really cute. I like the buttons on it. Did you get in London? It looks like a London coat.”

Louis nods, feeling relieved to have something as simple as coats and scarfs to talk about. The train jolts into action, and the low hum of the engine must surely mask some of their conversation from the other passengers.

“Yeah, just last weekend; I knew the weather was going to be a bit damp and horrible, when I was packing, but I hadn’t anticipated how cold it could get with the wind.”

“Oh sure, the wind can be vicious. I was surprised when I first arrived too.”

Louis doesn’t know if Harry is deliberately making conversation easy, or if it is just that conversation with Harry is easy, but he knows exactly what the next question is, without having to think about it at all. 

“How long have you been in London for?”

Louis is expecting an answer of at least a year, judging from the easy way Harry seems to carry himself around, and he can’t help the shocked look on his face when Harry replies.

“Oh, since early January - just gone a month now…what?”

Louis shakes his head, anxious to not seem too surprised.

“Sorry, I just… from the way that you had greeted some of the people on the carriage, the first time I saw you, I just assumed that you had been travelling with them for a while…”

Louis trails off, feeling horrendously embarrassed because he has pretty much just admitted that he has been watching Harry for a while. Harry breezes past it though.

“Ahh, no, I have just been trying extra hard to be friendly, you know. I don’t really know anyone in London, and I figured that seeing as my commute was probably the only regular social contact time that I was going to get outside of the office, I thought I might make a friend or something… I’m aware that sounds stupid.”

Louis is blushing, he doesn’t know why, because Harry has admitted the same pattern of behavior that Louis had been following, but it would have taken wild horses to drag it out of Louis.

“Um, no, that doesn’t sounds stupid.”

Harry shrugs, smiling a half smile and lowering his voice.

“Yeah, well, it kind of back-fired on me; British people don’t like making conversation on the tube, I’ve discovered. I think Mr Johnson is worried I’m going to try and sell him something.”

Louis stifles a giggle, and looks around, trying to gauge whether Mr Johnson is there, and whether he is in earshot. He isn’t obviously present, and Louis looks back at Harry, who is grinning and somehow looks a lot younger than his serious business dress suggests.

“You might have scared him away.”

Harry holds up his hands in protest.

“Hey, at least I’m not the crazy boy who needlessly trampled his suitcase.”

Louis opens his mouth, about to defend his position of innocence and extreme honor in that situation, but all that comes out is a laugh.

…

It turns out that Harry is very easy to talk to.

Louis isn’t an idiot, and the memories of the ‘stranger danger’ lecture that his dad delivered are still fresh in his head. But there is no harm in chatting about the small things to Harry, who jokes easily and smiles warmly.

They talk about what they were expecting London to be like, vs what it is actually like (Harry was expecting more cobbles, Louis was expecting less navigational crises) and what they miss about home.

“The food is… I don’t know if I’m shopping at the wrong places, but all I seem to find is dried food in a packet that I have to add boiling water to. I feel like I’m on the International Space Station.”

Harry laughs at that, and shrugs. Louis registers that he’s nearly at his stop, and feels a mournful little tug of sadness, because this conversation is the closest that he has had to comfortable since Louis arrived in London.

“I’ve found a store near my flat that does a pretty good range of fresh fruit and veg, so I’m doing okay. But yeah, the pre-packed food can be an adventure. I find it helps to think of it as a process of elimination.”

Louis wrinkles his nose at the thought of trying all the processed food that the UK has to offer, and then starts checking his bag, trying to indicate that his stop is the next one, and unfortunately this conversation has to end. Harry picks up on the hint easily.

“Southwark for you, yeah?”

Louis nods, trying not to feel happy that Harry had noticed what stop was his. Harry continues.

“I’m the next one along; London Bridge. We have almost matching commutes.”

He’s aware that he is smiling almost too wide for this conversation, but just this vague chit chat with Harry is healing over the homesickness wounds that Louis didn’t even know he was suffering. 

He risks it.

“I’m glad they almost match. I’ve enjoyed this journey.”

Harry grins widely, and nods, looking at his hands suddenly, or maybe just the watch on his wrist.

“Yeah - me too. So same time on Monday?”

The train starts to slow, and Louis stands up, checking that his coat hasn’t crumpled up behind him.

“That’d be good - if my alarm behaves itself. It doesn’t have a great track record.”

Harry smiles up at him, and then shrugs. 

“Well; fingers crossed.”

Louis nods, and resists the urge to say something like ‘It was really good to talk to you Harry.’

Instead he says “Have a good weekend.” Harry nods once, and smiles again, and now Louis has to leave the train, and fight his way up to the real world.

…

Zayn seems friendly. Louis thinks that maybe he has always been friendly, and Louis has maybe just been too closed down to notice it, but something about that conversation with Harry has lifted the pressure in his chest, and reminded him that he can do this.

In the afternoon they go out on an assignment together, and they end up having to pull together a shambolic set design for a production manager who is running way behind schedule.

Louis isn’t sure that they actually successfully pull off the set, but it is a good time anyway, and Louis enjoys the experience. Zayn has a strange laugh, which isn’t entirely unpleasant to listen too.

The manager thanks them afterwards, a look of desperate relief in her eyes, and Louis and Zayn walk back together, dawdling slightly because they have earned it.

“So whereabouts do you live?”

Louis almost says London, but he figures that Zayn has already absorbed that fact, and instead waves a hand in the direction he thinks is north, trying to sound confident.

“Up the Jubliee line - Willesden area.”

“Do you like it?”

“Um - it’s nice enough. I don’t know it very well yet.”

Pippa nods once, glancing briefly behind his shoulder before stepping out into the street.

“You aren’t that far away from me, in tube terms; I’m on the Central Line - Notting Hill.”

Louis tries not to look too surprised, because he knows Notting Hill is expensive.

“Cool - are you renting?”

Zayn shrugs, seemingly unconcerned. 

“In a way; my parents own property there - I’m living in one of their places; keeping the squatters out, you know.”

It’s all said very airily, and Louis glances at the tattoos on the arms again, trying to reconfigure his understanding of Zayn to allow for incredibly wealthy parents. Zayn smiles vaguely, and makes an effort to catch Louis' eye.

“It’s a good place to have parties; I’ll let you know about the next one, shall I? I’m thinking of doing a Valentine’s Day singles party - you’re single right? People don’t tend to move country if they’re in love.”

Louis nods firmly in answer to the question about whether he is single, as though there is no debate about it. The intonation of this little announcement indicates that Louis is expected to respond in a certain way, and that’s another thing that makes more sense about Zayn now; he’s not used to people saying no to him.

“Um, sure. That sounds good.”

…

The weekend passes slowly. 

Louis tries to remember that he likes alone time, that he finds having alone time an almost crucial aspect of being able to enjoy everyone else time. 

He’s not sure if he has ever done alone time when the option of not being alone wasn’t available to him, however.

Louis makes a decent attempt of it, though. During his Saturday morning walk to get coffee and papers he takes a left turn down a street he’d never had reason to go down before, and at the bottom finds a quiet park, with a large pond in the center and a number of people walking their dogs. It’s a pretty old park, Louis concludes, from the size of the trees. They have no leaves on them yet, no sign of spring, but their sharp outlines loom over him impressively.

Maybe he should get a dog.

Louis rejects that thought almost immediately, even as suddenly every dog in the park is overwhelmed with a desire to be his best friend.

On his way home, Louis wanders into a second hand shop, and picks up a print in a frame, of a view that reminds him of freedom. He carries it home tucked under one arm, with a bag of groceries in the other hand, from another find of that productive Saturday morning; a store selling food he recognizes.

Louis has neither a hammer or nails with which to put up the picture, and so just leans it against the chosen wall space. It feels like a start, regardless.

…

“Have you joined yoga yet?”

“No mom… I had a look and there isn’t a local one.”

“There must be a something club you can join? Anything to get out and socialise…”

“I’ll see if there is a local street gang who’ll have me, shall I… No mom, that was a joke. I’m joking. Anyway, um, I’ve made a friend.”

“Who?”

“Oh, just a boy who gets the same train as me in the mornings. He’s from San Francisco. Called Harry. He didn’t even need a cupcake from me.”

“Oh Louis, you will be careful, won’t you? I’m not sure that talking to strangers on the subway system is that wise…”

“Mom, it’s called the tube. And you were the one who wanted me to talk to people!”

…

In a strange way, Monday can’t come quickly enough.

Or rather the train journey into the city can’t come quickly enough; the rest of the day can wait.

It’s odd to think of Harry as something comforting, after only one real conversation with him, but Harry reminds Louis of all the parts of home that Louis misses. Positivity, openness, and sunshine.

When Harry steps onto the train he looks around automatically, and Louis enjoys the fact that it is him that Harry is looking for, and grins shyly when Harry finds him. Louis is sitting on end of a row of seats today, at the back end of the carriage, and Harry makes his way down to him, leaning on the pole easily and smiling.

“Hi. Your alarm did a great job.”

Louis smiles back easily, and then looks around the carriage, concerned at the lack of nearby seats.

“It’s busier today.”

Harry nods, and says “Yeah, Mondays; they’re always busier. I think people maybe must get up earlier. Or sleep for the week at their desks. It’s okay, I’ll stand - I sit for almost all the day anyway.”

Louis nods, wondering what sort of office Harry works in, and whether this embryonic friendship has reached the point where he can ask. Harry supplies the answer after a moment, having clearly seen the struggle on Louis' face.

“I work for a publishing company - the San Fran branch has sent me over here for just under a year, on a secondment; experience gaining, I guess. I applied for it.”

That’s cool, that’s really cool, and Louis is almost brimming over with the need to tell Harry that he is on a pretty similar schedule, and they’re both tourists in this strange city for the same amount of time, and wouldn’t it be great to make a resilient club of two, and share all these weird experiences together.

But he doesn’t, because maybe Harry doesn’t think London is strange or weird, maybe he thinks it is exciting and dynamic, in the way that Louis worries he is supposed to feel, too.

So instead Louis says “Cool.”

Great, now what? Harry nods quietly, and then looks away, getting out his phone after a moment and frowning at it. Louis worries that he’s come across as rude, and plunges desperately into conversation again.

“I work for a studio, so I basically do lots of dashing around all day. So, yeah. I’m grateful for the sit down time.”

Okay, now he just sounds like he is gloating about having a seat. Harry just smiles at him though, glancing quickly before looking away again.

“Yeah? I’d have guessed you were in television. You seem very watchable.”

It’s the oddest of compliments, so odd that Louis isn’t even sure if it is a compliment, but is doesn’t stop him from fighting off a blush.

“Oh, um, no, I’m not in front of the camera, I’m very far away from anything like that. No, I’m just a runner.”

“Sounds energetic - so what do you have to do all day?”

Louis doesn’t know how to make his job sound interesting, but Harry looks so interested, as though anything he could say will be fascinating, that Louis can’t help but start talking.

The journey goes too quickly.

…

 


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting into it now, 
> 
> This is an AU fanfic. Nothing is real.
> 
> Thank you for reading :)

And then, there’s a weird few days in which Louis doesn’t see Harry at all.

The first day, Louis tells himself that Harry’s alarm has probably just decided to miss it’s cue, in a vaguely ironic nod to the fact that chance encounters are flukey at best. It’s not because Louis talked for so long about the banalities of his job that Harry decided that maybe he could find a better train conversation partner, and is on an earlier train. Or maybe just in a different carriage, on the same train, hoping to not be found.

Louis crosses his legs at the ankles, and tries to immerse himself in his book, because that is what normal people do on the train, not try and strike up conversation with complete strangers.

It’s just one of those things. Louis is sure that he’ll see him tomorrow.

…

The next day, Wednesday, the people who pile on at West Hampstead are still not Harry.

It’s stupid, really, how attached Louis has allowed himself to become to the idea of being friends with Harry. Because he isn’t actually friends with him, not really. A few abstractly polite conversations with a stranger on the train does not constitute a friendship, no matter how much Louis had enjoyed those conversations.

Rather, Louis has allowed himself to become overly invested in what he thought the friendship with Harry  _ could  _ be. Louis has allowed himself to imagine a near year hanging out with this cool, articulate boy that understands the filter of unknown that Louis is experiencing all his days through. He’d imagined maybe going into the center of London with Harry (something he has still not managed to do himself) and allowing himself to do all the tourist activities  _ with  _ someone, rather than in this self imposed isolation.

Louis represses a snort of laughter at his own melancholy thought process, because this is a hell of a lot of introspection over a missed connection. He refocuses on his book, thankful that he can laugh at himself, because otherwise he would have gone crazy a long time ago.

He’s sure Harry will be on the train tomorrow.

…

He isn’t.

Louis wonders what kind of flat Harry lives in. And what he wears at the weekends. And what takeout he prefers, and where he went to school, and whether he’s encountered that same depressing television show that Louis can’t seem to escape.

Louis feels lonely, all over again.

…

At the end of the day, Zayn comes jogging up to him, waving a hand to get his attention as Louis slips into his coat.

“Hi, so this Saturday night, yeah?”

Louis pauses, utterly perplexed. What has he forgotten now? Zayn rolls his eyes, in an affection expression of indulgence at Louis' dazed look, and Louis isn’t fully sure if their dynamic has reached the level where it is okay for Zayn to roll his eyes at him.

“The Valentine’s singles party? Exclusively no attached people allowed - you said you’d come.”

Oh, that. Louis tries to look politely reluctant, because the very notion is bringing him out in hives, and fumbles for an excuse.

“Oh, um, ah, I’d forgotten, I’ve, I’m meeting a friend…”

Zayn shrugs, and says “Bring them! The more the merrier - as long as they’re single.”

Liam comes sailing past at this point, and throws his arm around Zayn’s shoulders in the way that boys of his age are prone to doing.

“Hey Squeak, I’m single and ready to mingle with your attractive friends - where’s my invite?”

Zayn laughs slightly at him, and shoves him off. 

“Okay, I’m not down with baby sitting, so maybe when you are legal.”

“Hey, I’m  _ nineteen _ , twenty next month. Young and virile.”

Liam stands with his hands wide, indicating his extreme maturity, even though Louis has tuned into the weird way that Brits interact with each other to know that he isn’t actually asking for an invite, not really. Zayn can read this easily too, and waves him away with a casual hand to his face.

“Whatever, only single  _ attractive  _ people are coming. So Louis, you’ll be there? Nine pm - I’ll text you the details, actually. I have your number, right?”

Louis nods unwillingly carried along by the rapid fire nature of the conversation. Zayn gives him a thumbs up, and takes out his phone.

“Great, I’ll add you and a plus one to the door.”

Louis can’t tell if he is joking. And he’s still got tomorrow to figure out a polite way of turning him down, and so Louis decides that he’ll come at this problem later, when he has a fresh brain.

“Cool. Thanks. Um, I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

…

The following day, Friday, Louis considers for an entire five minutes whether to get into a different carriage, just to see if he can engineer some kind of chance meeting with Harry again, but ultimately decides against it, because he isn’t going to try and force this. If Harry doesn’t want to travel in with him then that is completely fine.

It doesn’t stop him sighing with relief though, when Louis sees a familiar head of curls standing on the platform. Harry steps on looking anxious, but then he locks eyes with Louis, and a smile breaks out over his face like a sunrise. Louis waves him over, trying not to look too excited.

“Hey… where have you been?”

Wow Louis, why not cut straight to the chase and open with  _ I missed you terribly, please never leave me again? _ Harry pulls a face to suggest it was entirely out of his hands, and then gestures slightly further down the carriage, where two adjacent seats are now available, and Louis follows his lead, switching seats and resting his bag on his knees, as Harry sits down with a sigh, and rests his hands on his knees. 

“Hey, I’m sorry - my boss scheduled three early morning meetings with a couple of clients, and wanted me to sit in on them for the US expertise. I’ve been travelling in half an hour earlier.”

_ See _ , Louis' brain says,  _ perfectly reasonable explanation. Try not to get so hysterical next time _ . Louis nods his head, clearing his throat with a smile.

“Jeez, get your boss to clear it with me first, will you? I’ve had to try and read my book, of all things.”

Harry laughs brightly, and they’re off again.

…

Louis finds himself telling Harry about the up-coming party, because he’s nervous about going but also nervous about finding a way of excusing himself from Zayn’s overwhelming and insistent hospitality.

“He’s a bit much to handle, to be honest. It’s a singles party, Zayn kept repeating that, and I don’t want to be rude but I’m also a bit worried about ending up in a cramped couple of rooms with lots of people who are expecting an orgy.”

Harry snorts, and then giggles, leaning back in his seat. Louis vaguely registers someone in the carriage glancing at them with something like disapproval, because no laughing on the Jubilee commute, apparently. Whatever.

“Okay, I think you’ve probably got a bit ahead of yourself there. You should go; make some British friends. Man, I wish someone from my office would invite me to one of their parties, but they probably don’t have parties, they all seem super serious.”

“Oh, well Zayn doesn’t seem very serious, he’s got the most amazing tattoos all the way down his arms.”

“Cool - wow, maybe you should be worried about not being cool enough for this party, Louis.”

It’s said with a cheeky grin, and Louis kind of enjoys the light hearted teasing.

“I think that’s probably almost inevitable. I can’t use that as an excuse though - sorry Zayn, I’ve decided not to come due to my crippling lack of coolness.”

Harry laughs easily, as though everything comes easily to him. A thought strikes Louis, because  _ why not _ , and he blurts it out without thinking about it.

“Say - are you single?”

Harry sobers pretty quickly, and looks at Louis for a moment, and Louis could swear there is a hint of pink in his cheeks and a hint of hope in his eyes.

“Um, yeah” he says, cautiously.

Louis nods, plunging on. “Well, say no if you are busy or whatever, but do you want to come with me? To the party, I mean. Zayn said I could bring someone. It’d be nice to have an ally. And that way at least there would one person who is as tragically uncool as I am.”

Harry gasps, pretending to be outraged, but then grins widely, and maybe Harry is a very good actor, but he looks like he is trying to keep a lid on how delighted he is.

“I- yeah, sure! I’d like that; fuck knows I’ve got nothing planned, in my depressingly quiet Saturday night life-style.”

Louis nods seriously, and says “I figured - I thought I should be charitable.”

Harry flips him off in a easy gesture, and Louis just ends up smiling at him affectionately, because Harry is warm, and Louis doesn’t enjoy feeling cold.

There’s a beat, in which Louis realizes that his station is approaching fast, and he needs to make one final push, if he is going to solidify this.

“So, um, I should take your number, or something, so we can organize this, ‘cause we’re nearly at Southwark.”

Harry nods firmly, reaching for his coat pocket.

“Yeah, definitely, hang on…”

…

Zayn looks surprised, when Louis accosts him, during a mid-morning pause.

“Hey! Are you sure I can bring a friend? You don’t mind?”

Zayn smiles brightly, and then shrugs, saying “No, of course not - I’ve already put you two on the list, so the man on the door will know to expect you. Just tell him your name.”

Louis pulls a brief face, because Zayn has already made that joke, but the famous British sense of humor is incomprehensible sometimes, and then nods. 

“Um, okay… I’ll bring a bottle.”

Zayn waves a hand, saying “Only if you want to drink something specific - you really don’t have to.”

“No, of course I will… thank you for inviting us. I’ve got the address, so - nine pm, yeah? I’d best go, Abdul needs me to be somewhere, but thanks again; I’m looking forward to it.”

Zayn smiles again, looking a little bewildered at Louis' transformation from reluctant party detainee to eager party princess, and if he is honest, Louis is a little bewildered too, but he’s just going to go with it.

…

Louis messages Harry after he gets home, because it would be unprofessional to message him during his working hours.

_ Hey - it’s Louis. So Zayn said that the party starts at nine, but I think that might be secret code for don’t turn up at nine. but I thought if I meet you at West Hampstead station, on the platform? At about nine? Or if you get there first then you can just jump on with me? So that we travel together, basically. _

Louis sets about making himself a coffee, and when he checks his work phone again, there is a reply waiting for him.

_ Sounds good - I’ll see you there. _

Louis smiles to himself, and then frowns at the smile, and then puts the phone down, turning on the television because he needs to know if that useless Ian on the show is ever going to get his act together.

He doesn’t, of course, but the coffee warms him up, and Louis is looking forward to his weekend in London in a way that he never has before. He checks his phone again, and feels a little jolt of surprise to see that there is another message waiting for him.

_ Did you have good day? :) _

Louis grins at nothing, at the thought of having a conversation with Harry, and quickly starts tapping out a message in reply.

…

The next afternoon, as Louis considers his extremely minimalist wardrobe, which only consists of everything he could fit in his largest suitcase, Louis finds himself biting his lip. What would be an appropriate party of unknown coolness which may or may not descend into an orgy? What suitably indicates ‘here for the drinks and the social chat, not so much into the fondling and potential STDs’?

He rubs at his forehead, and only jumps slightly when his phone starts ringing.

“Hello?”

“Hello darling, how are you?”

“Oh, hi Mom… I’m good, just experiencing a wardrobe issue - I’m going to a party tonight, and I don’t know what to wear.”

Louis can’t feel very proud of himself, as his mom exclaims over the fact that Louis has managed to get himself invited to a party, and not a cupcake or yoga mat in sight.

“You will be careful, will you? Are you going with someone?”

Louis smiles at his mom’s concern, because even though he managed to survive numerous parties at college, that his mom never knew about, anyone would think that it was the first one that Louis had attended.

“Mom, it’s fine. I’m twenty four - I can look after myself. And I’m going with a friend - Harry, the boy from the tube.”

His mom breathes out a sigh of relief, but Louis can tell that he is still worried.

“Okay. But have you checked whether that boy is safe to go to party with?”

“What - ask him whether he’s a psychopath? No Mom, I’ve not managed to slip that one into the conversation yet.”

“Well, be careful, will you?”

“Yes mom…”

…

The conversation drifts, circling around the state of the neighbors hedges, and swooping across the wide terrain of _ what is Lottie is going to do after college _ , before his mom tentatively zones in on the topic Louis knows he has been itching to get to ever since Louis arrived in Britain.

“So, please tell me you have been in touch.”

Louis sighs, and looks away from his computer screen, towards the street lamp across the road. He plays dumb.

“With who?”

“You _ know _ who Louis, this peculiar arrangement will not work unless you maintain lines of communication - you can’t just let laziness make everything break down.”

“Mom, I really don’t want to talk about it - can you let me just get on with being here, for now? I’ll make my own choices about that.”

His mom sighs restlessly down the phone at him, and then says “I’m just worried about you. About  _ both  _ of you.”

“ _ Mom _ , leave it, will you? I’m capable of deciding what to do for myself.”

Louis can tell that his mom is wobbling on the verge of saying something else, and so he preempts her. “Mom, I’m serious. Anyway, I have to go, I need to get ready.”

He doesn’t really, he has plenty of time, but Louis wraps up the conversation with his mom, and puts the phone down, sighing and looking over towards his wardrobe again.

Louis doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t plan on thinking about anything, other than Harry. Wait, no, the  _ party _ . 

The party  _ with _ Harry, that’s it.

… 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I updated you all into submission yet?


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops.
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction. Everything is a lie. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> …

Chapter Six

Louis arrives at West Hampstead five minutes early, out of nerves. He’s already been to a store to pick up a couple of bottles of the cheapest looking wine he could find without it being obviously cheap, and now has to wait, for a chilly ten minutes.

He’d gone with a straight-forward black shirt in the end, with brogues and his nice trousers to give a nod to the fact that it is a party. Louis had worried for a bit about the fact that his coat was blue, and blue and black aren’t supposed to be worn together, the magazines tell him, but then again he figures Zayn probably isn’t doing any of the things the magazines advise, and he seems to be doing okay.

It’s a dark night, the moon hiding behind the clouds, and even though the platform is well lit, and reasonably busy, Louis can’t help but feel a little relieved, when Harry turns up.

Harry’s looking… Louis fumbles around for a word, and settles for dapper. He’s looking dapper. He’s wearing a button down shirt, and tight jeans, and shoes that shine. His hair still looks casually disheveled though, but Louis finds himself wondering whether it actually takes him quite some time to get it looking like that.

Harry grins nervously as he comes closer, and shoves his hands in his back pockets. Louis registers at this point, as Harry looks down at him, that he is actually a  _ lot _ shorter than Louis.

“Hi. You look great. And um… tall, jeez, since when were you so tall?”

Harry shrugs, and gestures down at his feet, stooping slightly automatically. They have never really stood up together, he realizes.

“Oh, it is all the heels in my boots, sorry.”

Louis gestures at him, having spotted that Harry is trying to make himself smaller. “No, no, stand up though, you look fantastic. I’ll just be down here, feeling inadequate.”

“You look really good.”

Harry shrugs, and looks down at himself.

“I figured that it is always better to be over-dressed than under-dressed; I have a tie in my pocket in case of a fashion emergency.”

Louis snorts at him, and then looks at Harry, baffled, because he’s sure that he’s met people who would do something like that, but never anyone who would admit to it.

A train pulls up before Louis has to think of what to say next, and Louis is relieved.

…

Louis double checks the address on his phone, even though he’s already been through this thought process in his head, and has maybe got it memorized, by now. Harry is looking around in awe, and then whispers at him “These are  _ big _ houses Louis.”

Louis nods, and shrugs, trying to remember that houses in London aren’t always what they seem. 

“Zayn said that his parents own his place, he’s just staying there - it’ll just be a couple of grand looking rooms I think. Um. He said that his entrance was on the right of this building…”

Louis trails off at this point, because having rounded the corner he is met with one shiny chrome doorway, and there actually fucking is a man on the door dressed in a suit looking like the human equivalent of a Bentley. He meets his eye, and Louis clears his throat, even as he hears Harry softly swear next to him.

“Hi. Um. We’re invited to a party? At Zayn’s place?”

He nods, and then consults a clipboard.

“Good evening - your name?”

What the  _ fuck _ okay that wasn’t a joke. 

“Um, Louis Tomlinson. Plus one.”

He scans down, and then nods, turning away from them to type in a key code. The door opens automatically, and he gestures them through.

“It’s the green button. Enjoy your night guys.”

When the door closes behind them, they’re in a small, immaculately furnished lobby. There’s a elevator in front of them. Harry gulps a couple of times.

“Christ Louis, who is Zayn?”

Louis shrugs a couple of times, wondering if there is a trash can in which he can hide his now obviously  _ far  _ too cheap wine.

“Fuck if I know - I think the question is who are his parents, but yeah, I take your point.”

The elevator takes them smoothly upwards, and when the doors slide open Louis is met with an overwhelming vision of chrome, black marble, and glass, looking out over the city. It is terrifying. 

It is also a kitchen. 

And it would appear that this isn’t where the main party is happening, because the music is playing further into the building, through the next set of doors.

Harry  _ what the fuck _ s a couple of times, and Louis opens a shiny cupboard at random, hiding the bottles in there.

“Louis, I think you might have accidentally befriended some rebellious offshoot of a billionaire. Or maybe an eastern European prince.”

When Louis looks at Harry, he’s grinning, and this feels like the beginning of an adventure, with Harry here. The music playing loudly in the next room is familiar to him, and that helps too.

“Come on. Let’s go and be intimidated further.”

…

On reflection, Louis is certain, completely certain, that he would not have got through that strange, first hour, without Harry.

Louis estimates, once his head has stopped spinning, that there must be close to fifty people here, all told. But it is difficult to really tell, because Zayn lives in a sprawling, bizarre penthouse, which is almost all glass and staggering views. None of Zayn’s friends stay in one place, but instead drift between numerous rooms which are all bigger than Louis’s entire apartment. 

Another factor which makes it difficult to count them all is that they are all wearing a secret uniform of sweaters that are too big, and skinny jeans. With impressive hair. The majority of guests have visible tattoos. Almost all have ears which have been mangled by stretchers in some way.

Louis feels incredibly square.

Harry takes it all in his stride though, and once Louis has managed to locate Zayn (who is sitting in an indoors hammock, staring out of a wall to ceiling window over the London night sky) and has done the necessary introductions, Harry takes over, and Louis is so, so grateful.

“So, Zayn, this place is amazing.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, flipping a hand about as if to suggest that he hasn’t noticed.

“Oh, um, yeah, I guess. Dad hates the glass, he says it makes him feel cold. It’s all a bit retro, for me, you know? But it is on the Central line, so I’m living here for the time being. So, you are Louis’s friend?”

There’s a slightly weird inflection to the question, but Louis gets distracted by someone appearing next to him with a tray, and that’s when he realises that there are serving staff, that this gathering of Nirvana rejects are being waited on by unobtrusive waitresses.

Zayn has a number of holes in his sweater at both elbows, and the entire thing is a little fucked up, Louis decides.

“Yeah, friend. But thank you for inviting us both - I’d never been to Notting Hill before.”

“Oh, it is kind of underwhelming… but you’re American too? That’s adorable - people will love that. Make yourselves at home - oh, if you want any pills or anything, speak to Nick; him, you, yes, you, you fuck up.”

Nick has a floppy quiff  and seems to be asleep on the floor next to Zayn’s feet, until Zayn kicks him in the ear. He rolls, and looks up at them, and when he speaks it is with an accent that even Louis can tell is outrageously posh.

“What the piss Malik - oh yah, fack, this establishment is open and it’s Squeak’s treat, so whatever, you know? Anything for transatlantic relations.”

A small part of Louis mind focuses on the fact that his mom would be having a complete fit right now, and he steps away, shaking his head. 

“No, I’m fine, thank you. Um, Zayn, can I use your restroom?”

Nick laughs at that, along with a few other people who are in earshot and listening, and then he echoes “restroom! Oh fuck me that’s so cute; Zayn you didn’t mention how darling the Americans were. Look at them, they’re both so  _ clean _ .”

Zayn kicks at Nick again, whilst Louis wonders how to kill him, and then waves over his head airly, in the worst indicator of direction anyway.

“Excuse Nick, he’s still in recovery. It’s further in. The room with the toilet.”

Someone else comes sloping over to Zayn at this point, and Louis uses the opportunity to tug at Harry’s arm, pulling them away from the centre of the room.

“Louis I don’t need the restroom.”

“Neither do I, just come with me.”

…

The restroom (bathroom, whatever) is also bigger than Louis’s apartment, and Louis snorts at the sight of it. He catches Harry’s eye, and Harry grins weakly.

“This is incredible.”

Louis responds with “This is a fucking head trip”, but he murmurs it, because the passageway they’re in is also populated with scruffy looking cool kids, and there’s a group of three sitting on the floor a few yards away, playing cards.

Harry looks at him seriously.

“We can go, if you like? I don’t mind. We can find a pub somewhere instead.”

Louis considers the offer carefully, because that does sounds appealing, but eventually decides against it. The music pluses, low and loud, in the next room, and Louis needs to stop just doing the things that make him comfortable.

“No, let’s stay. For a bit. I’m glad you’re here with me though.”

Harry shrugs, and smiles.

“It’s one for my London scrapbook, certainly.”

“Okay,  _ what _ ? Tell me you are joking.”

…

After the initial horror, the party isn’t so bad. 

Sure, Louis avoids Nick and his little pills like the plague, and sticks pretty close to Harry, but it is fine. He gradually realizes that everyone here knows each other pretty well already, and so he and Harry are new and exotic, and people compete to speak to them. Louis meets a Paul, and two Lana’s, and a Caroline, and gradually it starts to blur, as these rich, dysfunctional model types keep coming up to say hi. It helps to relieve Louis of the feeling of inadequacy brought on by the surroundings.

The (incredibly good) vodka also helps with that too.

And when the party reaches it’s natural tipping point, going from talking and drinking to dancing and drinking over the space of about three songs, Louis is actually having fun. Harry keeps grinning at him, and Louis can see the hint of  _ what the hell is this craziness that you have brought me too? _ behind his eyes. It makes Louis laugh. 

Harry can dance really well, and suddenly everyone is best friends with them, and this could be worse, Louis decides. This could be 100% worse.

…

Harry can dance  _ really  _ well.

…

There’s a hand on his arm, squeezing, and Louis looks around, disorientated by the music, until he finds Zayn, beckoning at him. Louis follows obediently, until he finds himself in that same, soulless kitchen that he and Harry started in. It’s oddly empty, and there must be another kitchen, Louis decides, that everyone else knows about and is using, because Louis has never been to a party where the kitchen is empty.

“Where’s the real kitchen?”

Zayn blinks at him, and then waves away his kitchen, dismissing it.

“Oh, there’s one on the floor below where Dad’s staff prepare the food and drinks - anyway, not the point. Harry. Is he single?”

Louis shrugs, and then nods, because yes, he’s just remembered that he checked this.

“Yes, of course - you said this was a singles party.”

Zayn gives him a look, and then says “Yeah, but that was just a thing I said; people don’t actually have to be single… _ anyway _ , Harry’s single, though?”

“And you wouldn’t mind if…”

Louis has missed a portion of the conversation, he decides.

“If what?”

Zayn shrugs, and looks up at Louis, gesturing at himself.

“If I…”

Louis strains every brain cell, but no. Maybe that vodka was too good. Zayn sighs after a second, and starts enunciating carefully.

“Louis. I’m checking to see whether you would be upset if I made a move on your friend, because I’m not fully sure about your sexuality, and I don’t want to step on any toes.”

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Louis didn’t know that Zayn was into boys. Or that Harry was…

Louis remembers that he is participating in a conversation, and refocuses on Zayn, who is watching him with something like amusement.

Louis still isn’t fully sure if he likes Zayn, to be honest.

“Yeah, no, that’s okay, I guess. There’s no… um, romance, or anything like that. He’’s my friend.”

Zayn nods, and then smiles, reaching behind his ear for the tiny rolled up cigarette he keeps there. Louis remembers that Zayn is incredibly rich, and probably heir to some throne somewhere, and this all feels very fake, suddenly.

“Okay, well, we’ll see how it goes. I just wanted to do the decent thing, you know. I like you.”

Louis smiles weakly, as if he enjoys being patronized, and Zayn gestures back out into the next room.

“I’m so glad that you are having a good time. Shall we?”

Apparently we shall, Louis thinks.

He feels off balance.

And stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't look at me like that, sometimes I get on a roll.   
> Stop complaining, be dazzled by my creativity.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction. Nothing is real.   
> Thank you for reading.

Chapter Seven

Louis worries for about ten minutes, but then remembers that Harry is an adult, and that this isn’t really his business.

Besides, Zayn doesn’t seem to be in a rush to make any moves. He’s probably just going to ask for Harry’s number, or something, at the end of the night. Louis refuses to feel any jealousy, because he doesn’t have exclusive rights to Harry’s friendship.

In a lull between songs, when the party descends briefly into a large shouting match over what song to play next, Harry reaches out to him, grazing his fingers over Louis' wrist briefly, to catch his attention.

“Hey - you okay?”

Louis nods, because he’s  _ fine _ . 

“Yeah, this is fun - you okay?”

Harry shrugs happily, and Louis feels a burst of affection for him, all over again, because Louis still doesn’t  _ really  _ know Harry, and so every new thing that he discovers about him just seems really appealing. And Harry is standing in a stranger’s house, surrounded by strangers and stranger things, and he’s  _ happy _ . Louis wishes he could have some of that confidence.

The beat starts again, finally, and Harry maintains eye contact with Louis, whilst jiggling his body about in a really exaggerated way that seems designed to make Louis laugh.

It does.

…

Midnight comes, and midnight goes.

Louis is getting a drink, and when he returns, Zayn and Harry are speaking to each other, just to the side of the room. Louis suffers from a moment of hesitation about whether or not to go over and interrupt, which nearly translates into an actual real life stumble, but Harry catches his eye, and waves him over, looking as though everything is under control, which it is, Louis reminds himself.

“Hey?”

Harry nods at him, and gestures at Zayn.

“I was just checking when the tube stops for the night, and we’ve missed our last train.”

Shit. Louis flushes, because he was meant to be in charge of this little outing, and now he has landed himself and Harry with an expensive cab ride.

“Oh god, I just assumed that other people would start leaving for the last train, I was waiting for that.”

Zayn shakes his head, gesturing around himself.

“Most of this lot will crash here. The others get taxis, or walk - some live close. But I was saying to Harry, my family have an arrangement with a private firm, just let me know and I’ll get you both a car. Unless you want to stay…?”

Louis can tell that Zayn directs the question mainly to Harry, but Harry breezes past the invite, thankfully.

“Nah, thank you, I think we both want our beds, right?”

Louis nods firmly in agreement, and Harry continues.

“But we’ll pay you, of course-”

“Oh god, no, it’ll go on the family account, don’t worry about it.”

Harry looks as though he is about to insist, but Louis is more reluctant, because if Zayn’s family can afford to allow this place to be used as a base for staffed parties for the wealthy youth of London, they can probably afford a taxi cab home. Zayn waves him away anyway, and gestures upstairs.

“We’re going to move up to the roof terrace, mellow out a bit. There’s tons of blankets and stuff, don’t worry about the cold. Tyler gets the fire pit going too.”

Louis looks around, and realizes that a number of guests already seem to be drifting towards the stairs. He feels a little lost. Harry presses his hand to the small of his back, guiding him gently.

“Sounds good.”

…

It is sort of beautiful, Louis admits, begrudgingly. 

The roof terrace is wide, taking up the entire roof space, and framed by glass. There are built in couches, all around the edge, framing a fire pit in the middle, which is being discretely attended by a straightforward looking man in a heavy coat. Louis finds himself wondering if he is some kind of live in janitor, and how much Zayn’s dad is paying him for the overtime. The flames provide enough lighting to see by, in the otherwise pitch black.

There’s big pots containing hardy looking plants, and Louis realizes that these can be moved around, to reconfigure the space, and cut the area into more private segments, if needed. Though the space is so spread out that, even though Louis can see most of the other guests up here, it still feels reasonably private, particularly if he sits back into a couch. Harry follows his lead after a moment, chucking a couple of blankets into Louis' lap and then sitting next to him, working with deft hands to ensure that both of them are reasonably cocooned.

The night air is cold, but not bitterly so, and Louis, after a moment’s investigation of the inexplicable control panel in the arm of the couch he is sitting on, finds out that the couch can be heated, if necessary.

“What the  _ fuckkk _ …” he murmurs, and then presses the appropriate button. Harry leans over him, trying to look, and asks “what?”

“If your butt starts getting warm it’s because the couch is doing it.”

Harry snorts, and rearranges the heavy blanket on top of him slightly. Zayn had thrown hats at them, as they’d come up the stairs and into the biting night air, and Harry has a beanie on, pulled down over his ears. He looks very snuggly, somehow.

“This place is ridiculous. These people are ridiculous. They probably all live in palaces, but they’re all scruffy and raging against the man. How long before an acoustic guitar appears, do you reckon?”

Louis smiles, scanning the other couches that he can see. 

“Oh, less than ten minutes. That guy there, I think.”

Louis shifts his blanket slightly, to point discretely at a bearded boy, and Harry tips his head to one side, considering, before agreeing.

“Good call. I’m not going to bet against you.”

Their breath fogs around them, and Louis finds himself watching Zayn, who is sitting on a chair closer to the fire pit, poking at it vaguely with a stick. He’s wearing a heavy coat and enormous fur hat, and laughs prettily, when a girl Louis  _ thinks _ is called Miley comes up to him, and attempts to sit on his lap. 

Louis glances at Harry, and realizes that Harry is watching Zayn too. Louis clears his throat.

“Why do you think he is working at the studios? He’s on the same wage as me, which is just like a basic living allowance - he clearly doesn’t have to even go to work.”

Harry shrugs, and then looks at Louis, smiling.

“It’s probably like that Common People song, you know? By Pulp?”

Louis doesn’t know, and Harry sings a couple of lines quietly, in a melodic tone.

“ _ I wanna live like common people, I wanna do whatever common people do _ … he’s probably just bored. Besides, even rich kids have to do something with their lives. He’s running away.”

Louis frowns, because he doesn’t want to talk about running away. Zayn must sense that he is being talked about, because he glances in their direction, and smiles slightly, as if in on a private joke, before immersing himself in deep conversation with Miley. Louis finds himself rolling his eyes.

“He’s into you, you know. He asked me if you were single.”

Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds like agreement, and then fidgets slightly, looking down at his knees.

“Um, yeah, I figured. He keeps looking at me.”

Louis looks sharply at Zayn, because  _ does he? _ His mouth continues, unbidden.

“He asked me if it was okay to make a move on you - if I was okay with it. I think he was worried I’d be upset.”

Louis shivers abruptly, at the end of the sentence, the heated couch and the blankets not doing enough to block out the chill. Harry reaches for the floor, and picks up another blanket, draping it loosely over both their knees. 

“Wow, he doesn’t mess around does he… what did you say?”

There’s a catch in Harry’s voice, that Louis can’t fully place, and puts it down to the alcohol, either blurring Harry’s intentions or blurring his ability to interpret. He shrugs.

“I said it was fine; I mean, I didn’t really understand why he was asking me - I’m not your dad. Surely it is your decision, not mine.”

Louis can feel himself being watched by Harry, and is glad for the half light. Harry looks back at Zayn, and speaks slowly, as if considering.

“He is pretty…”

Nodding, Louis grins.

“And  _ rich _ , seriously, marry him and you can also live in really odd and unsettling luxury.”

Harry laughs, and then says “Oh man, I couldn’t do it, I’d be trying to tidy up for the maids and make all the butlers cups of tea…”

Louis snorts at the idea, and then says “Oh fuck off, you know you would be wearing tweed and top hats within an  _ instant _ .”

“Hey!”

…

Louis is enjoying sitting on the couch with Harry. They talk quietly, about the things that make them laugh and the things they remember well. Louis wonders when he last had a conversation with someone that felt this easy. 

It’s been two weeks, Louis recalls. Since he first spoke to Harry.

Louis is sleepy, now, because the couch is warm and the alcohol has worked. He needs to go home soon, but for now the idea of resting his head on Harry’s shoulder is very appealing.

Before Louis can work up to that though, Zayn appears in front of them, looking like a grungy prince. He’s pretty, Louis thinks blurrily with a roll of his eyes. Pretty and rich and covered in tattoos; who could stand a chance?

“Hi - Harry, could you help me just get some more drinks from downstairs? Louis, this is Georgia; she wanted to say hi to you.”

Louis tosses a hand skywards to say hi, but he’s not very interested, in the tall girl that Zayn has been talking to for the past hour. Harry clears his throat, and says to Louis “You okay here?”, and Louis shrugs, because yeah, he guesses.

“I’ll be back, okay?”

Georgia’s shoulder doesn’t look nearly as comfortable.

…

Turns out that Georgia is quite spectacularly dull. She plays cricket, whatever that is. 

“I don’t… what even is cricket?”

Oh god, now Georgia is explaining cricket.

…

It’s probably only five minutes, though it feels like a lifetime, of cricket and wickets and mid offs, before Harry comes back.

“Hey Louis - are you ready to go yet?”

God yes. Louis nods, and holds up a hand, so Harry can pull him up. His feet are unused to the responsibility though, and he stumbles slightly, but thankfully Harry is there to help steady him.

…

He’s tired. 

Harry hands Louis his coat, and Louis puts it on slowly, leaning against the elevator wall as they go down.

“Thanks Haz.”

“What for?”

“Coat. Company. Not being weird.”

Harry laughs at him, and then the doors slide open.

“I’m good at those things.”

…

The car slides smoothly along the streets of London. Louis cranks open a window, hopeful that the oxygen will wake him up. A thought strikes him.

“Zayn. Did he ask for your number?”

Harry glances at him, and then nods, smiling faintly.

“Yeah.”

Louis registers that Harry’s hair looks slightly different, and he bites his bottom lip, suddenly deeply amused at the blush on Harry’s cheeks.

“Did you two… you know?” Louis waggles his eyebrows, and Harry snorts after a second.

“I don’t know what that means… we made out. Um. It seemed like the polite thing to do. He was pretty insistent.”

Louis giggles slightly, at the idea of Harry deciding to make out with Zayn in order to maintain social courtesy, and Harry flips him off.

“Shut up - at least I didn’t politely listen to a small lecture about cricket.”

“Oh, I’m an expert now; ask me anything, go on-”

…

Harry gets dropped off first, with a smile and a wave and promise of a Monday morning reunion. Louis doesn’t really know what he says in reply, but he knows he is smiling widely.

By the time the car delivers him to his door, it is close to three in the morning, and Louis is wide awake, because his body likes to fuck with his head, sometimes.

He opens up the laptop.

There’s three new emails.

From Eleanor.

_ I’m drunk, okay? Disclaimer. And I know that this is breaking the rules of this game, but I wanted to tell you that I miss you, and I hope that London is looking after you. Your mom says you’re fine, but I know how you like to only feed your mom half the truth. _

Louis sighs, and reads the next.

_ I’m sorry, okay? I know it was stupid, and I know I’m going to spend the rest of this year regretting it. The rest of everything. But when you come back I’m going to make it so much better. I don’t even deserve the chance that you are giving me, Louis.  _

Louis knows that he shouldn’t even read the next, but he does, anyway.

_ We’re going to be so good together. We’ll both sort our shit out, and then we’ll be so good. Cause you were right, cause you’re always right, we weren’t ready. But I can’t wait for us to be ready. I’m sorry. I love you. _

Louis frowns, and then frowns some more, and then opens up the reply box.

_ Does this look like giving me some space and time to you? _

Louis presses send.

Louis shuts his computer.

Well, that was a mistake.

He’ll go to bed, Louis decides. He’ll go to bed and will think about nothing at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. 
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction. Nothing is real. Special thanks must go to Kate for volunteering to spot my typos :)
> 
> Thank you for reading.

**Chapter Eight**

When Louis wakes the next morning, he has a significant headache. The sort that makes him wish for the nuclear apocalypse, just so the sun’s rays wouldn’t be quite so bright.

He sits up in his bed, and groans, because he hasn’t had a headache like this since college days. He thought expensive alcohol was supposed to not give people a headache? That’s a lie, Louis decides.

It’s cold in his flat, and Louis tugs on his socks before stepping out onto the chilly parquet flooring. He shrugs on a hoodie, before, after a small pause, picking up one of the blankets, throwing it around his shoulders.

Louis feels like any English person would drink a reviving cup of tea, at this moment, but he doesn’t have any tea bags. Or any coffee. So he ends up mournfully chewing on a breadstick, feeling like the least functional adult in the world.

Louis wants to speak to Niall. And  _ needs _ to speak to his mom, about maybe not sharing all of his life’s details with Eleanor. He can’t though, because it is something like 5am for them, and Niall in particular will not take kindly to 5am Sunday morning Skyping.

The temptation to just disappear into his couch for the rest of time is almost overwhelming. The traffic noise outside his window is far quieter than it normally is, and maybe Louis could just nap it out. Turn on the telly, watch Unhappy People and Their Sad Lives, or whatever, and wake up on Monday.

Though Louis will see Zayn on Monday, and something about that thought isn’t fully sitting right with him.

With an enormous effort, Louis picks up his Mac, and deletes the three messages from Eleanor with a wince. He then goes into his sent box, and deletes his reply too, because maybe if he just keeps deleting things, he can delete the fact that they happened.

He emails Niall, with a request for a Skype call later that night. He then google image searches for a pretty pic of Notting Hill, and sends that to his mom, with a promise to call later. He doesn’t air his complaints in the email, because Louis knows that they’ll sound very cold, and they probably need a personal delivery.

After that frenzy of activity, Louis genuinely is exhausted, and tips his head back, closing his eyes, with zero intention of moving for at least four hours.

His phone buzzes on his night stand.

Louis lifts his head, and glares at it. He then attempts to summon it with his mind.

Fuck.

Louis tips his head back on the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment.

His brain respectfully calls to his attention that only two people have his UK number and could possibly be messaging him on a Sunday morning. Zayn, or Harry.

“Two chances” he mutters, as he stands.

It’s Harry. As it is in Louis’s hands, Harry starts typing again, and Louis returns to his seat, content to watch the series of messages.

_ Hey - thanks for last night. _

_ i was thinking - do you want to go eat late breakfast somewhere midway between us? i usually go for a walk in the mornings, it’d be nice to walk with a purpose. _

_ I googled it, and it would be about fifteen minutes for both of us. _

_ Though you are probably still asleep. _

_ I swear i’m not weird, i just don’t really know anyone else here. _

_ Though I’m pretty sure that people who aren’t weird probably don’t have to announce that they are not weird. _

_ Um. Well, whatever. Let me know :) _

Louis snorts, when Harry stops typing. And casts a glance at his washroom, trying to assess whether he has the enthusiasm to shower himself in order to go for breakfast. Whether the thought of eating with Harry is more tempting than sleeping on his couch for the next forever.

Who is he kidding?

_ Hi weirdo - sounds good. Do you have anywhere in mind? I need really clear instructions, if I’m not to get horribly lost. _

…

Harry ends up sending Louis a zip code and a street name, and a name of a cafe. This is Louis’s favored form of directions, because it means that he just puts the destination in his phone, and uses it as a compass, following the blue dot diligently.

He feels better for the shower, and the weather, inexplicably, has decided to not follow the February protocol, and not only is there bright sunshine, but it isn’t bitingly cold, meaning Louis can get away with a sweater and then a hoodie, and not need his coat.

The cafe is almost empty, and squashed between a betting shop and a slightly disconcerting butchers, but it is clean, and the lady behind the counter greets him in a friendly enough manner. Louis orders a cup of tea, and settles on a window table, staring out of the window at the passersby. 

There’s an unusually high ratio of couples walking hand in hand, and Louis registers after a moment that it is the day after Valentine’s Day. That goes someway to explaining Eleanor’s emails last night, he thinks.

The angle of his seat means that Louis spots Harry as he approaches, looking fresh-faced and not hungover in the slightest. He’s wearing comfy looking jeans and a few warm looking layers and that scarf again, and Louis feels a strange pang of something, at how together Harry always seems and the mess that Louis must seem in comparison.

When Harry comes in, Louis waves, like an idiot, because the door is  _ right there _ , and there are only two other people in the cafe and it isn’t as though Harry had an exhaustive search ahead of him.

Harry greets him cheerfully, and then picks up the laminated menu on their table, not even bothering to sit down.

“I’m starving… can we order? I’ve heard a  _ lot  _ about a Full English breakfast… have one with me?”

Louis shrugs, happy for the decision to be taken out of his hands.

“Yeah - I’m vegetarian though…”

“Got it; one full English, one vegetarian version. I’ll be back in a moment.”

…

The full English looks disgusting, and his stomach nearly jumps out of the window.

On investigation, however, it isn’t as bad as it seems, although baked beans are not something that Louis will be eating on a regular basis. Louis sips at his tea, and clears his throat.

“What’s yours like?”

Harry lifts up a piece of toast, as though checking there is nothing underneath it, and nods.

“Yeah, um. An experience. An adventure. Do you think there are people who eat this every day?”

Louis shrugs, sitting back in his seat and closing his eyes briefly.

“Who knows. Surely only people who can take an hour long nap after it.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, and when Louis opens his eyes again, Harry is watching him with a smile on his face, but looks away quickly, placing his mug of tea on the table with a tap.

“How did you sleep?”

Louis shrugs, and says “fine.” It is a lie, of course, because his brain had been whirring too fast for him to drift off, but Louis doesn’t want to deal with any follow up questions, doesn’t know what the answers would be. He continues with a smile, asking the question that is on his mind because he has no reason not to.

“And you? Have you heard from Zayn?”

Harry smiles sheepishly, and Louis can’t help but notice the almost involuntary twitch of Harry’s hand towards his phone, on the table.

“Um, yeah. He’s sent me a couple of messages. I don’t really know what to do with him. He’s very… upfront. I’m not used to it.”

Louis watches as Harry blushes, amused by the way Harry looks away, and runs fingers through the scruffy hair at the back of his neck.

“He’s probably used to getting what he wants.”

Harry glances at him, and Louis feels scrutinized, and he worries about being found out, although what he is trying to hide he isn’t sure. Harry clears his throat, and then points at Louis, in a friendly gesture.

“Well, what about you? Georgia was into you, that’s what Zayn kept telling me.”

Louis pulls a face, and then laughs.

“Georgia was into cricket. If that was her pulling technique then she is only going to get boys with some very specialized areas of interest…”

Harry laughs at that, and picks his phone up, putting it in his pocket without looking at it.

…

They spend a couple of hours at that cafe, until Louis has drunk four separate cups of tea and is wondering whether he could maybe develop a taste for it. They end up talking about work, and Harry describes the contrast between his office in San Francisco, and the office that he shares in London. The London one has a view of the Thames, but apparently the one in San Francisco has an ocean view, and Harry knows which one he prefers. The grey waters of the Thames just heightens how much he misses home.

Louis wants to ask more, but he somehow never gets around to it.

When they part, ready to walk in separate directions, it is well into the afternoon, and Louis almost doesn’t miss home. 

He wants to say thank you to Harry, but instead just ends up waving a straightforward goodbye, as Harry grins cheekily, and says “see you on the train.”

…

Louis calls his mom, when he gets home, determined to do the necessary conversation when he’s still under the lingering good vibes that Harry seems to have given him.

“Hey mom…”

…

His mom, when she realizes that Louis is upset with her, apologizes more times than is necessary, until  _ Louis  _ starts feeling bad.

“Mom, seriously, it’s fine. I get it. Just try to restrain yourself in the future.”

His mom sighs at him down the phone, and Louis can tell that she’s finding it hard, and Louis feels terrible, for a moment, because this isn’t  _ just  _ Eleanor’s fault.

“I am sorry though - it’s just difficult, I’m not used to this silence.”

Louis twists his mouth, and turns slightly, looking at the picture on the floor that he still hasn’t managed to hang up on a wall.

“You can still talk to her... still invite her around the family dinners, if you want. Just, try not to tell her about me. The whole point is that we figure out what we really want - how is she supposed to do that if she has full details of everything I’m doing in London? The whole point of London was to try and gain some space; god knows we are far too tied to each other when I’m at home-”

His mom cuts him off, saying “I know Lou - I’m not going to try and understand, but I know what you mean. I’ll restrain myself.”

Louis sighs, because he can’t escape the feeling of letting everyone down.

“Thanks mom.”

…

It’s a relief, when Niall turns up on his screen. Louis doesn’t really know what to say however, doesn’t really know how to get the conversation started. So they end up tracing endless circles, even though Louis is pretty sure that Niall knows what he wants to talk about.

Eventually his eyes rest on the picture again, and Louis realizes that if he was at home, at  _ home  _ home, that picture would be up on the wall by now.

“Living alone is weird.”

Niall shrugs, gesturing around himself.

“You get used to it. But, yeah, have you  _ ever _ lived alone?”

Louis shakes his head, determined to not feel sorry for himself.

“No, unless you count the times when you left the dorms and I was still there.”

Niall tips his head to one side, as if he doesn’t count that at all, and then clears his throat.

“So, come on then Tommo - what’s up?”

“Eleanor sent me a few emails, last night. Valentine’s blues, I guess.”

Niall sits back in his couch, looking like Eleanor has once again proven herself useless, and Louis struggles to not provide her with any more excuses, because old habits die hard.

“Did you answer?”

“Yeah - only to tell her to not do that again. I should have ignored her though, that’d have been better.”

Niall nods in agreement, smiling softly at Louis as he always does, when Louis retrospectively spots the best course of action.

“Do you miss her?”

Louis frowns, thinks about it, and then shakes his head.

“No, not exactly. I miss… how I used to feel about it. About her. I used to be certain, you know?”

Niall hums, and Louis is certain that he misses Niall, at least, because Niall always gets it. This is confirmed when Niall says “But you don’t want to talk about it any more, right?”

Louis snorts, and thumbs up at the screen, abruptly.

“Good guess. I’m just off the phone to my mom; I’m pretty much exhausted of the topic.”

Niall nods, and then swoops closer to the screen, trying to look past Louis at the space around him.

“Anyway, anyway - show me around your place, whilst it is still daylight. Would you have space there for two by the way? I was thinking of maybe coming to visit you in March, if you think that’d be fun? I feel like maybe London needs to get shown how to party.”

Louis flushes with pleasure at the idea of Niall being here in 3D, and says “Oh my god, yeah, I’d love that; look, let me show you around my tiny hovel…”


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> This is an AU fan fiction. Thank you for reading!

**Chapter Nine**

The first time Harry sees Louis,  _ really  _ sees him, he thinks that he must have seen him before, but not registered it, somehow.

But as his train slides away, leaving the pretty,  _ pretty _ , boy, red faced on the platform, Harry waves, and the boy waves back, and everything is right in the world.

Mr Johnson mutters under his breath, as he reorganizes his briefcase, no doubt something offensive about clumsy Americans and their presence in his life, and Harry has a difficult time to not succumb to a complete fit of giggles, as everyone else in the carriage stares straight ahead and pretends that they saw nothing.

British people are so strange.

Harry keeps the memory of the American boy, with his flood of apologies, close to his chest for the entire day, and finds himself grinning at his screen as he works, whenever he dwells upon it for too long.

…

In the following days, Harry learns that the boy’s name is Louis, and that he’s East Coast, and that he’s a stranger to this city too.

Harry decides that making friends with Louis wouldn’t be such a bad idea. 

In fact,  _ not _ making friends with Louis would be a terrible idea.

…

Luckily, it is easy to make friends with Louis, who is slightly off-beat and answers questions in a way that Harry doesn’t expect and generally makes Harry want to unveil all of his best worst jokes at once.

His commutes to work improve immeasurably, and Harry sticks to his morning routine rigidly, having realized that Louis must have a similar route that he is following which keeps causing the shared journeys. 

So much so that Harry panics, actually panics, when he discovers the early morning meetings that are going to fuck up his schedule. To the extent that he seriously considers faking an excuse for being late, on that first morning, just so he can see Louis and explain why he won’t be there for the next couple of days. It is only after looking in the mirror, and reminding himself that he doesn’t do that sort of thing, that Harry manages to set the alarm for the correct time.

Harry had explained his plight to Ed, over the phone, the night before. Ed had been very quiet, and then had cut straight to the chase, in that annoyingly accurate way of his.

“What does Louis look like, Harry?”

Harry had stumbled, because he was all ready to fire off another volley about his unreasonable boss, and so he stuttered his way through his answer.

“Oh, um. Pixie-ish brown hair, um, blue eyes. Um. Face…good face.”

“Is he attractive?”

“I, well, I mean, from a purely objective point of view-”

“Oh  _ boy _ , shut up with your ‘objective points of view’. I’m sure you’ll find your pretty Louis again.”

“I don’t even care if he is pretty, I just think we could be great friends.”

“Harry, all of your past relationships have started with you chatting about how good friends you and the boy could be until he accidentally trips and falls into your mouth.”

_ “Ed _ , I swear to god…”

…

Harry isn’t looking for a relationship. He knows that he is only in London for a limited time, and it seems sensible to not involve himself in something that is only going to cause heartbreak, in the long term.

The problem with identifying the sensible path is that it only seems to inspire contrary responses, from his gut.

So when Harry boards the train at the correct time, after three days of pointless, completely useless early morning meets, and Louis positively lights up with obvious happiness, it is inevitable for his brain to think; maybe?

…

It’s a silly response, one which comes out of Harry’s usual fear of isolation and his tendency to overcompensate with confidence, whenever he is feeling a little unsure. So when he is lying in bed, thinking about the party that Louis has invited him to attend, Harry reflects upon the possibilities of maybe.

But it’s late, and he always thinks that when it is late.

…

The party is astonishing and overwhelming and way way outside of Harry’s comfort zone. He sucks it up though, when he sees that Louis is looking like he’s ready to disappear entirely, and Harry automatically overplays his confidence. Anything to get them through.

He feels protective of Louis, he decides. And it makes him talk easily to these strangers, all of whom are taller than him somehow, and have accents that Harry didn’t even think existed in reality. How Louis didn’t manage to spot Zayn’s accent, Harry will never know.

(Although he does find out, because he asks during a quiet moment, and Louis shrugs, saying “I’m really bad at accents. Like, I was only just about sure that you were a West coast native”.)

Harry thinks that accents are processed by the musical part of a person’s brain, and he nearly asks Louis whether he is musical, before checking himself, because what is with the headlong rush for knowledge? 

…

When Louis tells Harry that Zayn is into him, there’s a weird mess of emotions in his chest.

Because on the one hand, Harry had been picking up on those vibes himself, and it is always a relief to know that he isn’t completely delusional, on occasion.

And then there’s the introspective analysis which always comes, about whether Harry is actually attracted to Zayn, or is he only attracted to Zayn because Zayn is indicating his availability to Harry.

And then there’s the memory of the promise he made himself about no relationships while in London, but that’s probably getting a bit ahead of himself.

And then there’s the final worry that he’s somehow overthinking everything, and why all the calculation Harry? Why so self-centred? Harry can only hope that he said something sensible in reply to Louis, rather than just spacing out and staring at Zayn like a moron.

When Louis says something about there being no reason for Harry not to, there being no reason for Louis to be upset, something else settles in his chest, something that tastes a bit like disappointment. But not really, because he’s here, and he’s in London, and he’s at the most bizarre party that he’s ever been to, and things could be a whole lot worse for Harry, right now.

Zayn’s a pretty boy.

(Though not  _ the  _ prettiest boy at the party. Not by a long shot.)

…

When Zayn asks for his number, in that strange kitchen, Harry thinks  _ sure. Why not? _

When Zayn kisses him, and then just stays close, as though he’s expecting Harry to keep kissing him, Harry thinks _sure._ _Why not?_

It must be the alcohol, or something, because the entire moment feels slightly fuzzy around the edges, and not real, and a significant portion of Harry’s brain is worrying about whether Louis is okay upstairs, and what Louis thinks of him.

…

Harry dreams of nothing, that night, but wakes up feeling restless, regardless.

Zayn has sent him a couple of texts, friendly, chirpy, ones that Harry has to reply to, otherwise he feels like a bad person.

That quickly evolves into a conversation about nothings, in which Harry keeps thinking that he must have sent the final text, but then Zayn comes back at him with a fresh question, and Harry is relieved that his boss had said that the UK phone package he’d set up for him was unlimited, because this would be killing his data plan.

After Zayn’s final question, asking Harry what he looks for in boys ( _ you know - physically ;) _ ) Harry decides he’s not got the energy for this, and finds Louis' number instead.

…

Watching Louis drink cups of tea is a decidedly pleasant way to spend a number of hours, and Harry doesn’t think about Zayn once, after he puts his phone in his pocket.

…

“Hey Ed.”

Ed’s all chat, and energy, and  _ normalcy _ , and Harry appreciates him so hard, sitting on the other side of the world at a desk too small and a chair too squeaky.

They discuss their weeks, with Harry omitting almost everything of interest, and the desperately tragic set of circumstances that mean Ed cannot, in fact, update Harry in person (“I mean, how dare your boss give you a fantastic opportunity to further your career - doesn’t he know about our Ben and Jerry’s date night?)

In a lull in the conversation, Ed makes the noise that he tends to make when he’s remembered something, and Harry has a very accurate premonition.

“Did you find your train boy again?”

“He’s called Louis, Ed.”

“Sure -  _ Louis _ . Did you find him?”

Harry clears his throat awkwardly, because he doesn’t  _ really _ want to talk about Louis. He wants to keep Louis to himself, for a bit. However-

“Yes, you were right, I bumped into him again. We’ve, um, exchanged numbers, now, so I don’t need to worry about any other early morning meetings.”

Ed gasps, and then says “ _ You’ve exchanged numbers? _ Wow, Harry, you don’t mess around.”

“Ed - it was just because there was this party that Louis invited me to, and we needed a way to make sure-”

“Louis  _ invited you to a party? _ ”

Harry sighs, and pressed a hand to his forehead, smiling despite himself because Ed can go from zero to  _ giddy _ in a matter of seconds.

“No Ed, it wasn’t like that, listen.”

…

Highlights of the conversation include;

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Shut  _ the fuck up _ it was not.”

“Oh boy.”

“Okay who is Zayn?”

“What?  _ What? _ Harry…”

“Are you even for real right now?”

It’s the last comment that stops Harry from continuing his account of the party, because Ed seems unnecessarily outraged, at the moment.

“What Ed? He wanted me to kiss him - it would have been rude not to.”

Ed scoffs at him, and then says “lemme just map this out for you - you went to a party with one boy, and ended up kissing another one out of  _ politeness? _ What even…”

“No Ed, Louis isn’t- it wasn’t a big drama, okay? Louis is the one who  _ told me  _ that Zayn was into me. He said I should go for it. Why would he do that if-”

“Oh blah blah Harry, a whole world of whatever to you. If you go to a party with someone, you don’t abandon them; what was Louis doing, while you were being debauched in a kitchen?”

“Jesus Ed, it was just a kiss, and um. Louis was talking to some girl. About cricket. You are making a bigger deal of this than it merits, I think. Louis is fine. I went for a meal with him, just earlier today.”

“ _ What? _ ” There’s a clatter from down the line, and Harry tells herself that Ed hasn’t just fallen off his chair, because there really is  _ nothing to be excited about. _ “You went for a meal? The day after the party? With the boy who you went to a Valentine’s Day party with?”

“It was a  _ singles _ party, Ed, not a date.”

“Whatever, whatever. This is too much. No smoke without fire. Hips don’t lie. Are you sure you are not accidentally dating Louis?”

Harry presses his fingers to his temple, and rubs.

“Yes. I think I’m more likely to be accidentally dating Zayn, at this point.”

Ed is silent for a moment, and then huffs out a sigh.

“Don’t tell me who to ship. Also, and I know that this thought won’t have even crossed your mind, but is Louis straight?”

Harry clears his throat, because he has thoughts on this area, and Ed’s heard them many times.

“You know that I don’t buy into anyone being  _ exclusively _ into either guys or girls - human sexuality isn’t a binary system, but rather-”

“Okay, okay, save me your thesis. Is Louis giving off any signals that are pinging your ‘dar whatsoever? I need to know for reasons.”

Frowning, Harry looks at the wall in front of him for a moment, because he doesn’t know what the answer is. 

“I don’t know… I’m pretty sure we’re in friendship territory. And I’m pretty sure that’s all I want, you know? Things will just get complicated. So yeah, I don’t think Louis is gay, or whatever.”

Ed grumbles slightly, and then huffs out a sigh.

“Can you at least try and find out, before my new favorite ship sinks completely?”

…

When they end the call, some ten minutes later, Harry feels tired, and the notion of work tomorrow morning is very unappealing.

He manages the effort required to change into his sleep clothes, and pulls on an extra sweater, because there’s a chill in his room. With a sigh Harry burrows into his comforter and blankets, and then lies on his back, hands underneath his head.

He’s sure that Zayn is gay, at least. There were another three messages waiting for him, the last time he’d checked his phone, and Harry had to fumble together an excuse about having fallen asleep in the afternoon in order to lessen his guilty conscience.

Harry isn’t sure about Louis. 

But there’s a danger to wishful thinking. Harry has bad experiences in the past, which have involved elaborately constructing palaces of gay in the sky, only to discover that the target of Harry’s affections was just being friendly, just doing normal ‘friend’ things.

But there’s no harm, Harry decides, in trying to find out. 

Just to clarify the situation.

…


	10. Part Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction, in which Louis and Harry meet in London. Everything is a lie. SFW. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, commenting, bookmarking, etc - all appreciated and make me happy.
> 
> …

The problem, of course, is that the moment that Harry decides to try and identify whether a boy is gay or not, suddenly everything about that boy seems  _ really gay. _

…

There’s an easy rhythm to the morning commute now, and Harry is excited as he stands on the platform, waiting for the next train. There’s something very exhilarating about the early stages of a friendship, he decides. Much of adult life appears to be made up of accommodating people, putting up with the elements of their personality that annoy Harry because that is necessary behavior of a sensible individual. And so to find someone who he just genuinely likes, and gets on with, and seems to value him in a similar way, is always a good feeling. And to find Louis, in such a random way, in a city so far from home, is doubly excellent. Harry decides that sometimes things are just meant to work out well.

Louis hasn’t annoyed him once, which is pretty damn impressive, because even Harry’s  _ friends _ annoy him, from time to time.

It’s turned cold again, but it is crisp, and bright, and Harry claps his hands together, blowing on them for warmth and bouncing on his toes. When the train pulls in Harry is delighted for numerous reasons.

Louis smiles at him, and then wrinkles his nose, rolling his eyes away from him.

“Oh god, not you again.”

“What, you are the one who keeps choosing to be on my train?”

“This isn’t your train!”

“Yeah it is; all aboard the Harry train.”

Louis snorts at him, and then glances around at the other passengers. Harry remembers that he maybe can’t be a complete doofus whilst other people are in such close proximity, it wouldn’t be acceptable Monday morning behavior. Louis seems to have come to the same conclusion, because he’s looking around the carriage for a different space to the one they are currently occupying, in the middle of the compartment.

“Let’s go sit there…”

They aren’t really seats, but at the end of each carriage there are cushioned ledges, right next to the doors, that people can perch on. They’re usually only taken after all the seats are gone, but Harry happily makes his way down to the spot, with odd empty seats on either side.

Louis has to stand on tiptoes in order to perch, something which isn’t lost on Harry, from the way that there is a smile playing around the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything- did I say anything?”

Louis replies loftily “I heard you thinking it though.”

“Thinking what?”

“Thinking the usual.”

“And what’s that?”

See, without Ed’s over-excitable influence, Harry would just think that this is standard banter between friends. However, now that Ed has got at him, a tiny fragment of Harry’s brain is rattling around, trying to calculate whether this is Louis flirting with him. Harry looks over at Louis, and looks steadily at him with an arched eyebrow, until Louis looks down at his feet, blushing, and  _ see?  _ yells that part of his brain,  _ that’s exactly how a boy would respond if he was into you. _

“What you always think.”

Harry snorts, and then nods his head a few times.

“And what is that though? Exactly? Spell it out for me.”

Harry leans closer, catching a waft of whatever scent Louis is wearing, the one that he’s already decided he really likes.

“That I really like your scarf.”

Harry erupts into laughter, at that point, so much so that a few other passengers look at them, but Louis doesn’t care.

“Oh yeah, that was exactly it, nothing to do with your miniature nature  _ at all. _ ”

“Hey, I like to think of myself a travel sized, you know? Portable.”

Harry giggles a bit more at that, and then Louis reaches out timid fingers towards Harry, pinching a corner of his scarf and rubbing it between his fingers.

“No but, I do really like the scarf.”

Harry watches the tips of Louis’ fingers, allowing his mouth to keep the conversation inane.

“Well, you can’t have it. I knew it; this is all a ruse, isn’t it? A scarf pinching ruse. You are trying to lull me into a false sense of security, inviting me to swanky parties, sharing breakfast times together, and all the while waiting for your moment to strike-”

Louis tugs at the scarf slightly, looking greatly daring.

“Can I try it on? It feels like it’s really warm.”

Harry shrugs, letting his hands unravel it, and handing it over whilst saying “okay, but remember that I have witnesses, Louis…”

Louis wraps it around his neck a couple of times, and Harry immediately is telling himself that he should never have said yes, because obviously it looks far better on Louis, and now whenever Harry wears it he is only going to be able to think of Louis, and the way his hair curled softly against it.

_ Jesus Christ get a fucking grip. _ Louis smirks happily at him, and then nods once in appreciation.

“Perfect. I think you should let me have it.”

“Over my dead body - get your own perfect scarf.”

Louis laughs again, and hands it back. When Harry puts it back on he thinks that the material now smells of Louis, somehow. But he tells himself that it is just his imagination.

…

He doesn’t think about Louis much, that day, because Harry is a professional and he feels like he has a million things to do. His line manager isn’t shy about deadlines and demands, that’s for sure.

So he works through lunch, works through the entire day, and it is only really when he’s back on the tube again, travelling home in silence surrounded by people occupying their own private universes, that Harry thinks of Louis again.

Harry has to be careful here, he decides. Because loneliness has a tendency to heighten his affections, and without Louis Harry thinks he would be very lonely indeed, by now.

Harry is pretty sure that Louis isn’t gay, or interested. Because, if he was, then… well, Harry just feels like it would have been communicated in some way. It wouldn’t be all sleight of hand and scarf trickery. If Louis was gay and not interested, he’d have said “oh wow, I’m gay too, what are the odds?”, or something similar. And if he was gay and interested, he’d have said “oh wow, I’m gay too, let’s make out”.

Either way, Harry is not going to allow his brain to play it’s usual tricks of ‘Let’s construct an imaginary homosexual relationship and live in a world of pure imagination for the foreseeable future’. He did enough of that at college.

The thought occurs to Harry that he could just ask Louis. That’s probably what Ed would do. In fact, that’s exactly what Ed would do. Under some kind of  _ things that new friends must absolutely know about each other  _ pretense.

Name;

Age;

Blood group;

Full disclosure of prior homo-ing;

Harry grins at the thought, and then straightens his face out, remembering where he is.

He needs to not get too ahead of himself, Harry decides. There are more important things in the world than trying to figure out whether every pretty boy in his life is gay.

…

Over the next few days, Harry gets on the train at the same time, and Louis is always there, smiling, in that blue coat that Harry knows would not suit him in a million years, but he just really likes, nevertheless.

They sit, or they stand, and they talk, and laugh, and chat away about the previous day. Harry doesn’t quite manage to insert a question about Louis' prior homo-ing experience, if any, but he feels like he is learning a lot of vital things anyway.

Things about how Louis can only find really depressing television programmes on his tv, or ‘documentaries about unfortunate people with weight issues’. Or how Louis has been out of coffee for over a week now, but forgets to buy it every time he walks past a store. Or how he too has mysterious storage heaters in his flat; ones that appear to be a law unto themselves. All of this feels very important to Harry, and he stores all the information carefully, as though cramming for a pop quiz.

That Friday, there’s apparently maintenance work being conducted on a different line, and the knock on shift in passenger numbers is so high that Harry can only just find standing room in the final carriage.

He rises up onto his tiptoes for a moment, but he can only really see about five feet around her, and gives up looking for Louis almost instantly. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and Harry grins.

_ Did you just get on? _

_ Yeah - I’m going to be travelling to work in someone’s armpit, today. _

_ I thought you must have - I was overwhelmed by your stench for a second. _

Harry snorts, and then they’re off again, because what else are they supposed to do to fill the journey?

…

At his desk, nearing lunch time, Harry’s phone lights up.

He almost,  _ almost _ , ignores it, because messages from work colleagues always get copied into his inbox, which he is currently looking at. And the only other likely candidate is Zayn, who Harry isn’t ignoring, exactly, he seems a very nice boy, but Harry is trying to encourage him to cool his jets a little. Because making out in a kitchen is all well and good, but Harry would like to not have to participate in a week long text message conversation as follow up.

Harry doesn’t ignore it though, which is good, because it is Louis.

_ Hey, so do you have time to get some food somewhere? Seeing as fate kept us apart on the train? There’s a good place about five minutes walk away from your station, I’ve been told. _

See, this could be flirting, Harry thinks. But it could also just be an entirely normal and reasonable friendship interaction.

_ Sure thing - today’s a bit quiet than usual. I’d like that. Details? _

…

Louis orders a glass of water, and then fishes out all of the ice cubes, leaving them to melt in the plant pot at the side of the table. 

“I don’t know why places automatically put ice in drinks - It’s barely Spring, why would I want to be more cold?”

Harry makes a mental note of this, as though it is somehow important, and nods a few times, taking a bite of his BLT. It’s busy in this place, and it is actually a cafe just around the corner from the one that Louis initially suggested, because the prices on that menu had been so high both Harry and Louis had veered away from it automatically. This one had looked just as good from the outside, and crucially the prices were about £10 cheaper. And the BLT probably tastes about the same.

“Who even suggested that other place? Oh, wait-”

Louis nods with wide eyes, smiling around the straw in his mouth.

“Yup. Last time I take a eating out suggestion from Zayn.”

Harry smirks, and then gestures at his sandwich.

“Though I must say, this caviar is really substandard.”

Louis laughs at him, and Harry smiles back, as happy as he always is whenever he makes Louis laugh. Louis sobers after a moment, and gestures vaguely at Harry, before looking down at his meal again.

“Zayn has been talking about you. To me. Well, asking a whole heap of questions about you. To me.”

Harry shifts awkwardly in his seat, because talking about Zayn isn’t really something that he wants to do.

“Oh, um. Sorry.”

Louis shrugs, smiling quietly, and then says “You clearly made quite an impression on him - I’m afraid he’s discovered we barely know each other. Though I think that he suspects I’m now just pretending to barely know anything about you, in order to avoid having to keep answering questions.”

Harry feels very strange about this whole thing, for reasons that he can’t fully identify, and he coughs cautiously.

“What are you… what are you telling her?”

Louis smirks, and Harry notices the way that his nose crinkles slightly.

“Oh, a complete pack of lies, every time. I’ve told him that we met in jail, I’ve told him that you used to be a trapeze artist, I told him that you sideline as a body double for Mick Jagger... I’m having a great time.”

Harry laughs delightedly, as the tension drains out of the moment.

“Oh wow, okay, that explains all the questions that he has been sending me - he’s trying to figure out you are bullshitting him or not.”

Tipping his head to one side, Louis grins evilly.

“You should tell him a different set of lies, maybe. Tell him that  _ you’re _ an Eastern European prince.”

Harry tries to hold onto his giggle, because he feels a bit bad, about Zayn and his endless questions that Harry isn’t really answering. 

But on the other hand, this conversation has an air of confidentiality laced through it, and Harry enjoys the reminder of Louis' loyalties, if that’s what he means. Harry ranks higher than Zayn in Louis' affections, and Louis in Harry’s.

Harry has maybe been smiling at Louis in silence for a moment too long, because Louis flips him off, and Harry laughs again.

“I’m glad I met you. I’d have been going out of my mind by now, I think.”

Louis shrugs, but he’s smiling again.

“Me too. I still miss home, but things are more… bearable, now.”

“What do you miss? Who do you miss?”

Louis glances at Harry, because they don’t really talk about whos, in their conversations. Harry wonders if he’s stepped over a line, but Louis only bites his bottom lip once, before answering.

“Family, I guess. My mom - she always manages to make me miss home more than I thought I was missing it. And my friends… oh! But one of my friends is coming over to visit in a couple of weeks - you’ll like him. He’s called Niall.”

“Niall?”

Louis nods, and says “Yup. He’s as unusual as his name. You’ll come hang out with us, some time? So he can be dazzled by my social skills - he’ll never believe I made a friend who isn’t crazy.”

Laughing, Harry squints at him.

“Do you normally only make crazy friends?”

“Yeah - he’s a case in point.”

…

On the way home that night, Harry checks his phone. There’s nothing from Zayn, and Harry feels terrible, and types out an apologetic message, just asking him how his day went.

Because it’s not that he doesn’t like Zayn.

It’s just…


	11. Part Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh hi.
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction. Everything is a lie. 
> 
> I hope you are all enjoying. Thank you for reading :)
> 
> …

**Chapter Eleven**

It’s strange, how quickly a routine can be found, in even the most altered of settings. By the time Harry wakes up, one lazy Sunday morning, he realizes that he doesn’t actually know for how many weeks he has been waking up in this bed now. It’s no longer a strange bed, it is just  _ his  _ bed. And it is only after padding to the calendar that he keeps on the wall can he calculate for just how long he’s been on English soil.

Harry feels a bit of a mess, all sleepy and scruffy, but it is Sunday, and he is allowed that at least. He fills the kettle and flips it on, before rubbing a hand over his face and pulling his phone out of his hoodie.

Harry hasn’t contacted Louis this weekend. And sure, that isn’t much, considering it is only just over a day since they were sharing lunch together, but Harry has made a small, unconscious decision to not be the one to contact Louis first. Just to see.

(Harry has no idea what he thinks this is going to prove, but once Harry has decided to do something, he finds it very difficult to make a U turn.)

Once he’s made his cup of tea, Harry tucks himself into the sofa, throwing blankets over himself until drafts are impossible, and rests his phone on the arm, thinking about what to do.

He should probably offer to meet Zayn, at some point. Or, tell him that he isn’t interested.

And it isn’t that Harry  _ isn’t  _ interested, as such. Zayn is an attractive, intelligent boy, and Harry can well imagine enjoying spending alone time with him.

But it is as though his brain hasn’t really got the space for it, and the concept of another day of endless messages feels pretty exhausting.

Harry turns on the television, and flips channels until he finds a cooking programme.

The temptation to spend the entire day on the couch is there, he isn’t going to lie. But Harry is very aware of the entire city being out there, potent with possibilities, while he sits on a couch and watches reruns of Jamie Oliver.

And Zayn must have grown up in London; Harry can’t imagine anyone with that sort of money  _ not  _ growing up in London. So he could show Harry around; show Harry areas  _ beyond  _ just the tourist hot spots.

It isn’t a terrible idea, Harry tells himself, reaching for his phone. What’s the point of living in London, if he isn’t going to  _ live _ in London?

…

Zayn laughs at his jokes too, and it is a very pleasant sensation, walking down wide central London streets, with a pretty boy hanging off his arm and clearly having a great time. There are worse ways to spend the day.

They don’t go to any tourist spots in the end, because Zayn out and out refuses to go to any (reasons probably to do with the unavoidable presence of tourists, at the tourist spots.)

“They’re just so slow, you know? Always taking photos, you know?”

Harry thinks about the camera at the bottom of his bag, and says nothing.

Instead Zayn takes him to Dover Street Market, which is nothing like the actual street market Harry was expecting, but rather an imposing building filled with people who are all significantly cooler than him. But Zayn is in his element, waltzing from section to section and exclaiming over objects that seem to embody ‘disheveled chic’, whilst Harry subtly looks at prices and tries to not let all the blood drain out of his face.

Harry doesn’t buy anything, because he doesn’t fancy taking out a loan, today. He does offer to carry Zayn’s bags though, and Zayn accepts happily, falling into step next to Harry, looking very content.

This is working, Harry thinks. This could work.

“Hey, we should get something to eat, no?”

Zayn claps his hands together, once, and rotates slightly on his heel, as if considering.

“Ooh, yes, excellent plan, I was going to suggest it but I thought you might have to go… ahhh, there’s a really great delicatessen, a couple of streets north from here, come on.”

Harry allows himself to be redirected, and follows Zayn’s lead, letting his mouth run on automatic.

“As long as it isn’t like that place you sent Louis and I to on Friday…neither of us could afford it, not on our tiny budgets.”

Zayn is silent for a moment, and then coughs once, clearing his throat.

“Oh. Sorry - I didn’t think… sorry.”

Harry rambles on, kicking himself, because pointing out when someone is significantly more wealthy than you are is probably all sorts of rude, in England.

“No, but, it looked great, you know. Too good for us - we wouldn’t have appreciated it.”

“So, that’s where Louis disappeared to then, Friday. He didn’t mention it - I’d have joined you.”

“Oh - um…” Harry stalls, mentally kicking himself with his other foot, because yup, there’s a whole other reason for Zayn to be offended, if he so chooses. “It was a bit of a last minute thing; Louis was in the area, and just sent a message on the off chance, so-”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. It’s fine.”

…

By the end of the meal Harry is astute enough to realize that it  _ isn’t  _ fine, and the parting is awkward, with Harry caught between a kiss on the cheek, or a hug, or a wave, and Zayn isn’t doing anything to help.

On the tube, Harry reflects on how terribly he handled that, because  _ obviously  _ on reflection, Louis wouldn’t have mentioned it to Zayn. Sighing, Harry checks his phone, and, inevitably, there’s a message from Louis, sent four hours ago.

_ Hey - are you doing anything today? I was thinking of going to the park and pretending to be the owner of other people’s dogs, if that sounds like your idea of fun? _

It does, Harry decides, glancing out of the window at the rapidly darkening London sky. 

It did.

…

By the time Harry gets home, Louis has already apologized out of his offer, because it is now nightfall, and he has home contacting to do.

Harry collapses into his couch, turning on the television to find Jamie Oliver there again. 

It would almost be as though Harry hadn’t moved at all, were it not for the fact he feels like he’s taken several steps backward.

…

“So, do you know if he is gay or not yet?”

“Ed, it really isn’t as easy as that-”

“Harry, when you choose to make something hard,  _ nothing  _ is easy.”

…

The following Monday, Harry doesn’t find Louis on the train.

Confused, he checks his phone, only to find a brief message saying  _ argh overslept - see you tomorrow. _

But then, Harry doesn’t see Louis the next day, because he has to attend another early meeting, so  _ another  _ message is sent, apologizing.  _ See you tomorrow. _

And then, for the next two days, Louis isn’t going to the studios, but is apparently being sent to a studio in a different part of London, and Harry isn’t going to be paranoid about this, these things happen.

On Friday, when Louis isn’t on the train, and Harry hasn’t got an explanation in his inbox, then he  _ does _ allow himself to be paranoid.

Or rather, not paranoid that Louis is avoiding him, as such. But instead, paranoid that Harry is allowing Louis to matter too much to him. That there is already an attachment which is not friendship, which is more than friendship. And Harry should not have allowed that to happen, not really.

The stations flick past, without Harry really seeing them, as he travels into work alone. He thinks Mr Johnson might be observing him, curious, but finds that he doesn’t really care.

The problem is not that Harry has suddenly realized that Louis is attractive, because, really, a person would have to be a very acute sort of moron to not see that. He is obviously attractive, obviously lovely.

But Harry thinks there is a very distinct danger of Harry being  _ attracted  _ to Louis. And that is not an ideal set of circumstances; Harry has prior experience of crushing on friends, and it leads to many months of heartache before he can set his head on an even level again.

Harry lets his body’s auto-pilot guide him from Southwark station to his desk that morning, all the while trying to cross check his prior interactions with Louis for signs of inappropriate affections.  _ Inconvenient  _ affections.

His inner Ed starts yelling  _ maybe these affections wouldn’t be inconvenient if there was the possibility of them being returned, you asshat _ , but Harry does his best to ignore that, because that’s the sort of thinking that only gets him in trouble.

When he arrives at his desk, Harry checks his phone again. Nothing from Louis.

He props the phone up against his monitor, just in case.

…

During his coffee break, Harry realizes that Louis' distance might have been deliberate. Maybe Louis has been worrying that Harry might have inappropriate affections towards Louis. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t been in as much contact.

…

Or maybe he’s annoyed that Harry spent a day with Zayn instead of Louis. And that scenario has a whole different set of connotations, and Harry gets almost nothing done that afternoon, because his brain seems to be incapable of putting the concern to one side.

… 

He packs up early, because his boss passes through the room and tells Harry that he looks like he has been working too hard, and Harry doesn’t need telling twice.

There’s a definite warmth in the air, and this is absolutely spring now, Harry decides. The sun is still bright, and it is Friday, and things could definitely be worse. 

It’s too warm for his scarf, really, and Harry tugs it off, cramming it into his bag and pulling out his phone, as he briskly walks the last few paces onto his train. He’ll text Louis, he decides. Something positive and casual about his week, and then maybe a suggestion of meeting up over the weekend, and essentially try to force his brain into remembering that this is normal, this friendship with Louis is fine.

He’s pretty much composed the message by the time the train rolls into Southwark, and Harry is about to press send, but glances up just as the train slides to a halt, only to lock eyes with Louis, standing on the platform. The train keeps moving, carrying him past Louis, and so Harry doesn’t have time to respond in anyway, just stares dumbly, phone still in hand.

There’s a moment, a horrible, horrible moment, in which all the commuters getting onto the train are  _ not _ Louis, but then at the last second, Louis jumps in, looking flustered and disheveled. But all Harry can really register is the smile, the mile wide smile, that Louis is sporting, apparently at the sight of seeing Harry.

“Hi!”

…

Of course, there’s a perfectly plausible explanation for Louis' non-contact today.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, my phone’s dead - I forgot to charge it.”

And so, of course, the conversation during the journey home is perfectly normal, and exactly like it always is; full of easy chat and giggles. And so, of course, all that has really happened is that Harry has worked herself up into a paranoid frenzy over nothing, and as a by-product has revealed some slightly unsettling truths about himself.

Louis loses some of his giggles, however, as the journey nears its end, and he tips his head back on the seat momentarily, looking weary.

“I’m really glad to see you - it’s been a rough week.”

Harry stops himself from reaching out to rub Louis' shoulder in comfort, and instead just smiles sympathetically.

“Work, huh?”

Louis shakes his head, and then looks down at his hands, which are resting loosely in his lap.

“No, um. Home life. Certain… individuals, at home, who I don’t really want to talk to, keep communicating with me, and- I don’t know, I guess it wears me down.”

Harry is aware that his stop is approaching fast, but when Louis smiles weakly at him, looking helpless, Harry makes a quick decision, forgetting all of his prior resolves instantly.

“Hey, do you want to talk about it? I could stay on, and then we could have a post-work drink, somewhere near your stop?”

Louis blinks at him, and then smiles in reflex, before saying “Oh, no, you don’t want to do that, you’re still in your work clothes, and it’ll be any extra journey for you-” but Harry goes with Louis' first reaction.

“I really don’t mind - it’s not as though I have something I need to rush home for. I’d like to.”

Louis chews on the corner of his thumb, looking Harry up and down jokingly, as if considering, whilst the train slides into Harry’s station, and Harry remains rooted to his seat.

“Okay, fine - just stop me if I start telling you my  _ whole  _ life story, because nobody needs that.”

…

On the way out of Willesden station, Harry spies a likely looking shop, and holds up an apologetic hand to Louis, feeling around in his jacket pocket for some coins.

“Sorry, do you mind just… I won’t be a minute.”

He finds what he is looking for pretty quickly, and wraps it tightly in the bag the cashier gives him, smiling to himself. Louis is looking a little lost in the street, and there is still enough sunlight for him to be illuminated, looking beautiful in that coat that’ll be the death of Harry, and  _ not now _ , that part of his brain.

He hands the bag over to Louis with a smile.

“I got you a present.”

A full range of emotions flicker over Louis' face faster than Harry can track, but as he opens the bag he laughs.

“Oh jeez, how did you know I’d still not done that?”

Harry grins, feeling exceptionally pleased with himself, as Louis pulls the coffee jar out of the bag and smiles like an idiot at him.

“Just a gut feeling I guess. You seem like someone capable of stretching out a minor task over a three week period-”

“Hey!”

…

 


	12. Part Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone
> 
> This is an AU fanfiction. Everything is a lie. 
> 
> I hope you are all enjoying the story.
> 
> …

Louis hadn’t been lying. He was tired.

So they go for a coffee, instead, rather than the traditional post work pint in a pub, that Louis now understands he is supposed to participate in, in order to respect British culture. Louis can’t decide if it is ironic, or just stupid, to bring a jar of instant coffee into a cafe, but goes with it anyway, placing it proudly on the table. Harry fusses with it, moving it around as though trying to find the optimum spot for it to sit, and the server gives both of them a pretty blatant weird look, much to Louis' amusement.

Harry feels…refreshingly normal, and  _ safe _ , and Louis realizes that he’s missed him a great deal more than he thought he would, this week. He makes a mental note to check with Harry what his schedule is for the next few work days, just to see if they’ll be travelling in together. His job tends to feel more manageable, when Louis has seen Harry, beforehand. 

Harry raises his eyebrows at Louis, and nods, as if seeing Louis' thought process in 3D. 

“Nice to see you - I’ve missed you, dude.”

Louis smiles slightly, because no-one calls him ‘dude’, and even from Harry it sounds like it has been tacked on as a hesitating after thought.

“We really need to work on our coordination - I’m growing worryingly reliant on our early morning chats.”

The server brings them their order, and Louis dumps a sachet of sugar into the mug, because he feels like maybe he’s earned it. He screws up the paper, and tries to flick it at Harry, but it just bounces across the table a few times, and comes to rest next to Harry’s hand. 

Harry glances once at it, and murmurs “Terrifying. So- work shit? My work has been shit to average all week, if that helps.”

Louis remembers telling Harry on the train that it wasn’t his work which had tired him out, this week. However, from the look in Harry’s eyes, Louis knows that it isn’t that Harry has forgotten that part of the conversation, but instead can just tell that Louis isn’t quite ready to talk about any heavy stuff, not yet.

So he takes the opportunity of a delay, and talks steadily about work, and the mundane tasks, and the increasing unpredictability of Zayn’s mood towards him. Harry sips his coffee, and nods, and it is easy, easy to talk like this with Harry. Louis can feel some of the pressure bearing down on his heart lifting, as every minute goes by.

…

They finish their coffee, and Harry pays before Louis can say anything, waving his protests away and wrapping his scarf around his neck. 

“Don’t worry about it - you can pay another time, okay?”

_ Okay _ , Louis thinks, smiling at Harry pointlessly. But he can’t do that for long, and instead looks away over his shoulder, to where another boy, a boy with dark hair and brown eyes, is watching Harry, as he checks his shirt collar and adjusts his sleeves before pulling on his coat.

It’s kind of… amusing, Louis thinks, how attractive Harry is, but how he doesn’t really seem to notice it. He must get so many offers, Louis decides. He’s probably great in bed, too.

Louis veers away from that thought automatically, because  _ hello Freud, yes it has been a while _ , and giggles slightly, and the stupidity of his brain. Harry glances at him, and nods, grinning in response.

“Having fun down there, Louis?”

“Yeah - just caught a great view of your nostrils.”

“Oh fuck off.

…

It’s night, now, though it never really seems to get dark, not in London. Everything has the weird half light that street lighting always provides, which throws the colors off kilter and finds shadows where there should be none.

Louis is aware that he still hasn’t managed to speak to Harry about home, but doesn’t feel like he can just launch into a list of complaints. Isn’t even that sure of how much he wants to tell Harry, although Louis thinks that just airing them, to someone as practical as Harry, is bound to help.

Harry judges the moment to be correct, however, and Louis is grateful for his shy question of “So, you said that home things were getting at you - do you still want to talk about that?”

Louis nods, because yes, this is the sort of thing that friends talk about.

“Um, yeah. Um…”

It’s hard to categorize where to start, and Louis gives himself a moment, whilst Harry walks next to him in silence.

“I have… so I guess I’m recently out of a long term relationship, but uh. It was a bit messy, until I drew a line and came to London, because our whole lives were wrapped together, and I just thought that with some head space, I’d be able to, you know, but anyway, I keep getting these messages about, like, trying again, and fresh starts, and I’m just like-”

Harry holds up a hand, interrupting the least articulate speech of Louis' life.

“Okay, you know that you are playing the pronoun game, right now?”

What? Louis looks at Harry, uncomprehending, and Harry sighs, looking self conscious.

“So, I’m just going to ask, okay? And this is just a friendly question, no deeper meanings being searched for, but just so I can stop trying to figure out the answer because it is hurting my head slightly; like, you know when you  _ know  _ you know the answer to something, but you can’t actually remember it, and you can’t stop thinking about it until you figure out the answer, well-”

This time Louis interrupts Harry.

“Han, what are you talking about?”

Harry takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Okay, don’t think I’m being weird or anything, because I just think I’d be a great deal more helpful in giving you advice if we weren’t playing the vagueness game, so I was wondering if you are, um, gay, or anything, along those lines? Like, is this home person male or female?”

Oh. Oh. Louis laughs slightly, surprised, because he hadn’t realized that he hadn’t made this obvious to Harry yet, and shrugs.

“Um, she’s female, she’s called Eleanor. She’s definitely female. Sorry, I didn’t realize-”

Harry holds up a hand, apologetic, and grins sheepishly.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m sure you’d have got to that eventually, it’s just I wanted to clear it up, cause I’m not very good at those conversations where we play spot the pronoun, they hurt my head.”

Louis laughs again, and this time it sounds more like his own, and smiles back at Harry, affectionately.

“Wow, you really made a meal of that, I didn’t know what you were talking about - yeah, Eleanor. She’s, well, she was my girlfriend of four and a half years, but we umm, yeah. We split up.”

Harry grunts, making a sympathetic noise, and then asks “So are you here as a kind of ‘fuck it, I’d just like to forget everything’ sort of trip?”

“Um, kind of” Louis hesitates, feeling hyper-conscious of his elbows, because what he’s about to say isn’t  _ entirely  _ true. “He, uh, well, she proposed to me, I guess she got tired of waiting for me to ask, and I didn’t want to get married, so I said no. But, we kind of, I mean we were  _ living  _ together, and even if I’d moved out of our house her whole family are really close to my whole family, and it was all a bit of a mess, to be honest, until I moved out here. So yeah, we broke up. But I keep getting these emails, from her but also like her  _ mom _ , being all passively nice and blah and I don’t know…”

Louis trails off mournfully, because the vast majority of that is true, and saying it all out loud makes him feel like a piece of shit. Harry rubs his shoulder, trying to comfort him, and Louis smiles at the gesture.

“I guess I’m here to try and avoid having to feel guilty all the time, but um, it turns out that it is pretty damn hard when Eleanor continues to be perfectly wonderful to everyone in my family and I keep getting friendly little missives talking about how keen she is to stay friends, and ugh.”

Harry shrugs, glancing once over his shoulder to check that the road is safe to cross.

“Hey, you don’t have to feel guilty for what your heart wants, you know? Like, there shouldn’t be any doubt, about marriage, and if you felt doubt then it wasn’t right, no matter how lovely Eleanor and her family are.”

Louis sighs, because while he thinks that Harry is probably right, he also isn’t aware of exactly how great Eleanor is, and how intelligent, and how successful, and how beautiful, and how intense Louis' fear is that he is just being a massive idiot for no reason.

Maybe what he and Eleanor had was just how love feels, after four and a half years.

He airs one of his worries, saying “I just felt too young to get married, like, wow, I didn’t want to get married already.”

Harry nods, looking very certain of himself.

“Marriage should be absolute - if you weren’t sure, then Eleanor wasn’t right for you. And so, what, now she keeps sending you messages asking you to reconsider?”

“Yeah, sort of; that and just asking me how things are going and just generally being really nice. Like, I kind of needed her to yell at me, or something. Be angry. Instead she keeps apologizing. Whereas I’d have made a bonfire out of everything she holds dear.”

Harry snorts, and then smiles at him.

“Different people react in different ways I guess. And anyway, at least you know for certain that moving to London for a while was a good decision - the space is probably helping, even if it doesn’t feel like it. I think you should send her an email or whatever directly telling her to stop contacting you. If she is as nice as you say, then she’ll respect your wishes. And if she doesn’t respect your wishes, then you know that she isn’t as great as your worry she might be, and therefore you were right to say no. Win win, I think.”

Louis blinks, because he’d never considered it like that before, and looks down at Harry, who’s looking pretty pleased with himself.

“You might have just solved all my problems.”

Harry grins, the idiot.

“I’m good at that.”

Louis laughs, hip checking him so that Harry goes staggering away from him, laughing in response.

“Oh shit, wow, there’s gratitude.”

They’re nearing the station now, and Louis is aware of a sadness, because he can’t really ask Harry to stay longer, not in his work clothes, but also he doesn’t really want Harry to leave, not when having him around makes Louis feel happy and relaxed.

Harry must sense his shift in mood, because he sobers too.

“But seriously, I can see why that must be aching at you. But remember, you did the right thing - you didn’t want to get married and you said so and she will get over it, eventually. Everyone always moves on, eventually.”

Louis nods, guilt aching at him, because… yeah.

This is the station now, they’re at the station. Harry wraps his arms around himself, bouncing up and down on the spot slightly because the chill seems to be getting to her.

“I’m totally okay with you talking about it more, you know? Or moaning about her, or whatever, in the future? We’re friends; we can do friends stuff. Don’t feel like you have to pretend that everything is fine when it isn’t.”

Louis smiles weakly, far more drained than this conversation merits, and looks at the station entrance.

“Sorry I extended you day for so long - you must be exhausted.”

Harry pushes some hair out of his eyes, looking like he could keep going forever.

“Nah, I’m fine. I enjoyed myself. I feel like I know you a bit better now. We’ve all got our… thing, huh? Our things that we don’t like talking too much about.”

Louis nods, looking at Harry and wondering what his ‘thing’ could be. He doesn’t ask though, and Harry shrugs, saying “another time, maybe. I’m going to go, you should get home- are you sure you are okay walking alone?”

Smiling at Harry’s concern, because he does it every night, Louis nods, and then, on impulse, reaches out towards Harry, going for the hug.

“Thanks Harry.”

Harry nods once, looking up at Louis from far too close, and then moves away from him, waving casually.

“Anytime - seriously. In return, please don’t think I’m weird if I get bored and accidentally suggest we go for another full English, at some point this weekend - I might be developing a taste for baked beans.”

Louis laughs at that, loudly, and then things feel back to normal.

…

He Skypes with Niall that night, because they have things to organise.

Niall must have sensed that Louis was having a bit of a wobble, because the vague plan of “definitely before May” has solidified into “next weekend, okay? Gird your loins, Styles. Warn your neighbours.”

Louis doesn’t know why he didn’t tell Harry, really; something to do with maybe wanting to surprise Harry with Niall, somehow. Having a moment of “ta dah! Look, I have friends who are crazy cool and hilarious and great, be dazzled by my ability to attract these sorts of people to me.”

It’s not really the thought of a regular person, Louis decides, and he wonders briefly if he is going stir-crazy somehow, and that all of the feelings of isolation that this switch in life-style is causing within him is translating into Louis being really fucking weird, when it comes to his new friendship with Harry.

Once they’ve established the details of when Niall’s plane is landing, and how Louis is going to meet with him, and guide him through the terrors of London to his apartment, Louis sighs, and leans back on his chair, rubbing at his temples.

“Niall, remind me why I said no to Eleanor.”

Niall comes back instantly, as sharp and certain and solid as he always is.

“Because you knew that she wasn’t  _ completely _ right for you, and therefore she was  _ completely _ wrong for you.”

Louis looks away from the screen, fiddling with a stray piece of paper on his desk.

“And um. The current set up? Remind me why I thought that this was a good idea, for me and Eleanor?”

Niall tuts at him, and then says “Because you are god-awful at making a firm decision, completely focused on not hurting anyone’s feelings, and worry far too much about causing a bit of temporary trauma for both of your families, rather than just getting it over with instantly.”

Louis flips him off, and then groans.

“I hate you. I also don’t understand how anyone can be  _ sure _ , like, how does that even work? Thinking time isn’t the craziest notion in the world.”

Niall clears his throat, and when Louis glances at the screen Niall is smiling softly at him.

“Look, without meaning to be brutal, if you are looking for someone to tell you that you are doing the right thing, then you should probably not be talking to me. And I swear to Oprah, if this London trip turns into a ‘let’s look at wedding tuxes trip’, then you are going to be in real trouble with me.”

…


	13. Part Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU fanfiction. Everything is a lie. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> …

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

…

They don’t go for a full English in the end, instead choosing to head to the park that Louis now makes a habit of swinging his limbs around, and picking up a couple of bacon sandwiches from a stall in the corner. Harry orders Louis a cup of tea too, and gestures at the sandwiches whilst he deftly adds milk and sugar to both.

“I thought you were vegetarian?”

Louis nods, turning away from Harry slightly and letting the sunshine warm his face.

“Yeah - but eating the food here was hard enough without giving myself extra boundaries, so I stopped. I mean I started. Eating meat. I’m not a very good vegetarian. I’ll probably pick it up again when I get home.”

Harry laughs, and gestures at a bench that has just become free, after a couple had stood up and wandered away.

“You want to sit?”

The park is pretty busy, probably the busiest that Louis has seen it, and he puts it down to a sign that the weather is getting warmer, and time is actually progressing, and Louis has to admit that he thinks he might be getting used to this new life now.

Harry unwraps a corner of his sandwich and takes a bite, humming contentedly.

“You always make it sound like you’ve wound up in this alien community - the food here isn’t that different.”

Louis takes a sip of too hot tea, and tries not to wince, as he swallows.

“No, well, yeah, I mean. I want things to be as simple as possible, while I’m here.”

Harry nods, sitting up straight to stretch out his back and take in his surroundings.

“Yeah, me too. The fewer things to think about the better.”

Something about Harry’s words seem to have a strange emphasis on them, as if Harry is confirming the thought to himself, and Louis turns to look at him, watching as Harry seems to ignore him and intently watch a golden retriever puppy walk in front of them with it’s owner.

Louis nudges him after a second.

“If you want to steal it I can provide an alibi.”

Harry laughs, and then says “No, I would never. But it is nice to know that you’ve got my back.”

“Well, up to a point - it would depend on how much the reward is.”

Harry smiles, looking like he would expect nothing less, and then takes another bite of his sandwich. Louis has a thought, about things being as simple as possible.

“So, um, you and Zayn, huh? Is that still happening?  Or am I being too nosy?”

Harry shrugs, glancing once at Louis and smiling warmly.

“I don’t think so. I’m not even sure there was ever a ‘me and Zayn’, to be honest. I guess we had like… one date, maybe, but it didn’t go very well, and … I don’t know. I’m not really in the business of having to work really hard to make a relationship work. I figure it should just feel easy, you know?  Like you are gently rolling down hill.”

Louis nods uncomfortably, because him and Eleanor had felt like that, and he really doesn’t want to be thinking about Eleanor.

“Does that mean that Zayn is going to be in a bad mood with me again this week?”

“Why would Zayn be in a bad mood with you?”

Shrugging, Louis starts trying to prise the lid off his tea so he can blow on it to cool it down.

“I don’t know. He just is. Or maybe it just feels like that, maybe he’s in a bad mood with everyone. Either way, I’ll brace myself for this week.”

Harry shuffles about awkwardly on the bench for a moment, and then clears his throat, changing the subject.

“Oh, speaking of this week - I’m probably going in early, at least for the first half. There’s a deadline coming up at the end of the week, and I don’t want to have a mad rush at the end.”

Louis nods, feeling a bit funny because this conversation that they are about to have is going to be oddly domesticated.

“I might not see you then - Thursday and Friday I’m being sent to a different set of studios, on the north bank. But it’s cool; I’ve got your number.”

Harry takes a sip of his tea, and then follows Louis' lead, peeling back the lid in order to get some cooler air at it.

“I know, I just… I guess I worried, a bit, if I didn’t see you on the train. I didn’t want you to do the same. But that was pre-phone number, you’re right.”

Harry is blushing, at something, or maybe it is just the light. Louis moves the moment on anyway, conscious that Harry might be uncomfortable, and also because he’s just remembered something exciting.

“Oh! But are you around next weekend? My friend Niall is coming to stay for a week - I really think he’d like you. And you’d like him, and so, you know. I thought we could do something together, or whatever?”

Harry brightens up immediately, at the concept, and nods enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah, I’d  _ love _ that. As long as Niall is good with doing some proper old fashioned touristing, because I’ve been in London for three months and I’ve done  _ none  _ of the things that I’d planned…”

…

The next week passes quickly for Louis, because now he has something to look forward to, and is feeling more confident at work, and thus Zayn and his vague but relentless bitch face can be ignored with surprising ease.

And then it is Friday, and Louis is at his regular station, waiting to collide with Niall, who swore blind that he could make it this far without any need for Louis' intervention. Louis is checking his watch, and fidgeting about, and on the verge of calling him, when a familiar figure emerges from the train.

Seeing Niall is  _ so  _ good.

Like, so good. Louis can’t even wrap words around it, even as he goes darting across the station hall, and Niall yells at him once in delight before opening up his arms to hug Louis.

It’s just - this is Niall, who is someone from home, and now he is  _ here _ , and it is as though Louis is being reminded that his previous life did exist, that Niall is firm evidence that all of that wasn’t just a weird dream.

“Tommo, I don’t even know what day I am on, but take me to a place that’ll serve me junk food asap.”

Niall has somehow managed to get a week’s worth of clothing into two rucksacks, which despite their deceptively small size, are densely packed, and Louis staggers a bit, when he lifts one. But he’s impressed, nevertheless, at Niall’s condensed packing skills. Niall nods when Louis mentions this, and picks up the other bag, heaving it up onto his shoulder.

“I figured I could just steal whatever I needed from you. If that’s okay.”

“Sure, of course - though I’ve barely got the things that I need, so…”

“Louis, you’ve been here for two months now; how can you still be poorly equipped for this life?”

Louis shrugs, because he really doesn’t know how he manages it.

…

After dumping Niall’s bags at Louis' flat, and Louis double checking several times that Niall doesn’t want to go to sleep immediately (“Louis, seriously, the food on the flight was garbage, and if I fall asleep without eating there is a strong likelihood that I’ll resort to cannibalism in my sleep”), they find themselves in a restaurant, staring at menus.

Louis knows that a hungry Niall is not a Niall that is particularly good at chit chat, so he selects quickly, tagging an order of a regular burger onto Niall’s deluxe burger, and then sitting back in his chair, trying to rub the stresses of his week away from his eyes.

Niall gestures at him, taking a sip of his diet coke.

“Since when are you a carnivore?”

Louis shrugs, because even though he has been a vegetarian for as long as Niall has known him, he has kind of forgotten the reasoning behind it. And he is kind of done with letting things continue just because the habit feels safe.

“Since I discovered that vegetables are pretty rare and exotic, in London. Or this bit of it, at least. I don’t know. I just really wanted to not have to think tactically about food.”

Smiling, Niall shrugs at him, saying “well, that was probably a good call though. Although I’m sure you are wrong - I bet I can find you a decent source of food, while I’m here. That’s one thing I can fill the day with, when you are being a city slicker, during the day.”

Louis snorts, at the idea of him being categorized as a city slicker, when all he really does is run around feeling frantic all day.

“That’d be really useful, actually. Although maybe your main priority should be trying to figure out how the heating system works in my flat, because I feel like now it is plotting against me.”

Niall rolls his eyes, grinning.

“Oh, you poor confused little duckling. Anyone would think you’ve never lived alone before.”

“Fuck you - we’ll see how you fare against them in a bit… unless you want to go out? I figured it would be more of a couch and drink and sleep session; I’ll introduce you to my new favorite show too. It makes you happy because you realize that at least your life isn’t as shit as theirs.”

“Nice - how long do you think it is reasonable to wait for a burger before I start giving the server evils?”

…

Niall falls asleep quickly on the couch, after only one drink and an inspection of the storage heaters that mainly involves kicking it a couple of times, and then declaring it broken forever. Louis tosses a couple of blankets over him, and then turns off the television, moving to the corner of his open plan space that contains his bed and stretching out on it, phone in hand.

The final coherent conversation that they’d had before Niall had passed out had been about arrangements for tomorrow night, and Louis making an awkward mess out of asking Niall whether he’d mind if Harry came along.

(“What are you on about - of course I don’t have a problem. The more the merrier. He sounds fun. Why are you asking in such a roundabout way?”)

Louis doesn’t know, but at least he has checked now, and so can message Harry, who he hasn’t been in touch with for a couple of days.

_ Harry? Are you there? _

Harry starts typing almost immediately, and Louis feels a little push of warmth, at the idea of Harry a few miles over, frowning at the screen, probably curled up on his couch in comfy clothes. Louis wonders what his flat looks like.

_ Yeah - you okay? Having a good time with…Nile? how do you spell his name? _

_ Niall. Not that your version isn’t beautiful. Yeah, it’s good to see him - he’s passed out on my couch now though. His flight wasn’t great. _

This time Harry starts, and then stops typing a couple of times, as though he can’t quite figure out what he wants to say, and Louis finds himself wishing they were face to face, because words are sometimes easier that way.

_ Do you still want to meet up tomorrow night? Because not a problem if not, if you just want to catch up with Niall without the random extra person then that’s cool :) _

Louis bites his lip, aware that he’s smiling, because trust Harry to give Louis every opportunity, really.

_ No, that’s what I was texting you about - I was just checking that you wanted to do something. I think Niall will really like you. We were thinking of heading into the city for the day, and then maybe some drinks around where you live, maybe? So you don’t have to travel back and forth. _

Louis isn’t sure why he mentions that Niall will like Harry, but too late, because Harry is replying.

_ I hope Niall likes me too - but okay, cool! Shall we do the same thing of meeting at my station? What sort of time were you thinking? _

Louis grins, already excited, and starts typing again.

…

It’s sunny, and Louis feels like a kid on a school trip, with his rucksack and too big sweater. Niall is wearing enormous sunglasses and a sweater with a cartoon picture of a burger on it, and Louis thinks that they couldn’t be more obviously tourists, and he loves it.

“What does Harry look like? Is he going to out-glamor me?”

“Oh! Um.” Louis stumbles over his words, uncertain. “He’s um. Tall. And um. He’s got like - these really green eyes, and there’s a little brown ring around the green, and-”

“Hey - Louis!”

Louis turns, and there’s Harry, jogging up to them with a grin on his face. He’s got a backwards snapback on, which is a new Harry thing, but Louis immediately decides that he likes it, because now they are  _ definitely  _ tourists, there’s no getting away from it.

“Harry, hi!”

Louis does an awkward half wave thing, as Harry approaches, because now that Niall is here Louis feels like he has forgotten how he normally greets Harry, has to remember all over again.

“Hi! Um, hi. Nice to see you. And you are Niall, right?”

Niall grins automatically, and leans in for a little half hug, because oh yeah,  _ that’s  _ how normal people manage to greet each other.

“Yeah - hi! So you are doing the tourist thing with us today, huh?”

Harry nods a couple of times, bouncing up and down on his toes, looking… cute, Louis decides. Looking really cute.

“Oh yeah - I’m ready. I’ve been wanting to do it since I got here, I just couldn’t find the opportunity. But I’ve read all the guidebooks in anticipation, so you know… if you need an interesting fact, at any point, just ask me.”

Niall laughs, and then just taps a couple of times at the peak of Harry’s hat, with that easy affection that he always manages to find at moments like this, while Louis looks on, envious.

“You know, I’d just asked Louis to describe what you looked like, while we were waiting for you-”

“Niall-”

“And he managed ‘tall with weird brown ring around the green in his eyes’, when clearly he should have gone for ‘super cool tall gay’ - loving the hat, and the general look, bro.”

Harry grins, looking delighted, and tugs at his sleeves, preening slightly.

“Oh shit, thank you - I like you. And Louis, my eyes are not weird!”

Louis tries to laugh it off, even as he’s burning with embarrassment.

“I didn’t say it was weird - that was Niall’s interpretation. Anyway, look, that’s our train coming.”

The station is quieter than it normally is on a weekday, and when Niall gets on first, exclaiming over which seat to have, Louis hears Harry say, half to himself “people don’t usually spot the brown in my eyes.”

Louis pokes at him, on impulse.

“It isn’t weird, okay? I’d just noticed it, that’s all.”

Harry nods, looking at Louis like that isn’t the point, and Louis isn’t really sure what the point is, any more.

“Louis? Are you guys standing all the way to Big Ben? There’s seats here, come on!”

…


	14. Part Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. This is an AU fanfiction. None of this is real.  
> Thank you for reading :)

It’s pretty cool, seeing all of London’s iconic buildings, when beforehand Niall had only ever seen them in pictures. Hell, Niall half wants to take selfies in front of the circular ‘Underground’ signs, and snap pics of passing buses and taxis, but restrains himself, because both Louis and his new friend Harry seem very chilled about it.

Harry’s a funny little thing, Niall decides, as Harry walks and talks them through some of the historically significant streets along the north bank of the Thames. He’s full of facts that Niall has no way of double checking, and if it were almost anyone else the number of asides would be a complete snooze alert, but on Harry the entire thing is rather endearing, Niall guesses. Charming. It’s charming. Particularly with Harry’s easy laugh and the way he keeps double checking that everyone is okay and having a good time, like an overly anxious tour guide.

When they pause at a particularly impressive spot, and Harry puts his rucksack on the ground in order to root through it for his phone, Niall nudges Louis to one side, and murmurs “Where on earth did you find this giant nugget then?”

Louis shrugs, looking down at his feet and generally being a bit out of focus, somehow.

“Oh, on the train, I told you. We have the same commute, kind of got chatting, you know. Chance.”

Niall nods, because chance is a fine thing, sometimes. Harry glances up at them briefly, probably just checking that they haven’t wandered off, and then goes back to his bag, muttering under his breath. Niall looks out over the view, reflecting on what pose he is going to strike, when Louis speaks again.

“I’d have probably come home, by now, if I hadn’t met him.”

Whoa, okay, that’s a statement that needs a lot more unpacking than Niall can manage in a short moment, and Louis probably realizes it, because he steps away from him, checking if Harry needs any help.

But Niall can see the blush on Louis' cheeks, and  _ huh _ , he thinks.  _ Huh _ .

“Ah-ha! Found it! I would have never forgiven myself, if I’d left it at home…”

Harry automatically holds his hand up for a high five, which Louis meet with the back of his hands, just as easily, and maybe Niall needs to reformulate how well Louis knows Harry, because he’d been under the impression that they were casual acquaintances who occasionally did coffee, but this is looking a whole lot more real than that.

“Come on you two, strike a pose! Let’s show London how Americans  _ really  _ tourist.”

…

They find time to do the Tower of London (underwhelming, though Niall thinks that sort of thought might end up with him being put  _ into  _ the Tower of London, if he says it too loud), and the London Dungeon, and then Niall spends a solid two hours of his life losing his mind in Madame Tussaud’s, which is exactly his brand of ridiculous. In fact, it seems to be all of their brands of ridiculous, and the number of selfies next to wax versions of people would be embarrassing, were it not for the fact that all three of them were doing it, and so instead it is just awesome.

In fact, the whole day is generally awesome, and by the time they’ve decided upon where they are eating in the evening, Niall has decided that  _ not only _ has the day not been marred by Harry’s presence, but in fact it has been improved.

Improved by the fact that a) Harry always seems to know where he is going, b) makes Louis laugh on the regular, and c) laughs at all of Niall’s jokes.

_ In fact _ , by the time they switched from a restaurant to a bar, and this is only after  _ one  _ beer, Niall has decided that the three of them have great potential to be firm friends, were it not for the inconveniences provided by geography.

After two beers, Niall decides that he really likes Harry, because it is at this point that Harry snaps his fingers as if he has just remembered something, and loudly announces “Okay, spoiler alert, but I am a light-weight, so if I start undressing myself whilst dancing it is your responsibility to stop me. You, Louis. Your responsibility. Niall, I don’t know you very well, but I feel like you might encourage me.”

Niall laughs loudly at that, and then takes a long sip of his drink through the straw.

“No you don’t know me very well - I would be stripping along with you. And Louis would love it. We’re basically very poorly equipped for this scenario.”

Harry smirks, and then arched his eyebrow.

“But very well prepared for an impromptu burlesque show, is what you are saying.”

Louis snorts at this, and maybe Louis is the most sober, because it’s been a long day, and Niall is still drunk on lack of sleep, and Harry is pretty skinny, to have drinks over dinner and then further cocktails. Niall grins at Louis, and Louis rolls his eyes affectionately, before poking at Harry’s side.

“I’m just going to go find the restroom - can you two try to not be nude, when I get back?”

Harry holds his hands up in the air, as if denying all responsibility, and says “hey, got to give the people what they want”, which has Louis flipping Harry off as he walks away, and Niall laughing really hard.

Niall does notice, however, the way that Harry watches Louis go, and maybe Harry’s filters are a little lower, post a couple of drinks. Or maybe Harry just looks at everyone like that.

“So. So. Hairy. Hairy Harry.”

“That’s not my name.”

Niall waves that away, because who gives a shit about names right now?

“Whatever. Harry. What the fuck are you doing in London? You don’t have any big secrets or baggage that you are on the run from?”

Harry squints at him, and yeah, maybe it is a weird question, but then again Niall knows things that he is pretty sure Harry doesn’t.

“Um. No? Just here for the experience. No baggage. Well, some. Plenty of non-metaphorical baggage, at least.”

Niall twirls his drink with his straw, because he’s trying to buy time in order to figure out the best way to phrase his next question tactfully.

“Do you look at everyone’s butt like that, or just Louis'?”

From the way Harry chokes on his own drink, and then hastily puts the glass down, shame-faced, Niall reflects that he might have worked a little harder on the tact.

“Shit, I wasn’t, I mean, it was just, you know, it was just a general look in the direction that Louis' butt happened to be in, I wasn’t-”

Niall reaches over to him, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing slightly, because he doesn’t want to cause a full on panic attack.

“Hey - don’t worry, it’s a great butt. I’d have been surprised if you weren’t looking. I was just, you know, wondering whether you had a soft spot for Louis, or not? I’m really nosy, borderline invasive, and my time in London is limited, basically.”

Harry shrugs, looking more comfortable now, and picks up his drink again. 

“Oh. Well. I don’t know. I mean, yes, of course, Louis is very attractive as well as being a constant delight, and I’m very single, so. But like, I’m aware of his straightness. I’m not going to do anything stupid like fall in love, or whatever. My gay self-preservation instincts are high.”

Niall nods, trying to look as if everything is settled, and Harry holds up his hands again, smiling disarmingly.

“Promise I’m here for the friendship only. We get on great. It’s been nice to have an ally, whilst in a new country, you know?”

This time Niall makes a very solid attempt to smile convincingly, because he knows Louis, and knows how this works.

Louis is always perfectly friendly to everyone, but also keeps everyone at a distance. Hell, Niall is pretty sure that he is only Louis' friend because sharing a room at college forces a certain kind of intimacy.

Louis returns to them at this point, giggling and clapping at Harry, when he half stands, and gestures down himself, demonstrating that he is still fully clothed. They fall into an easy kind of conversation, one which carries them through the next fifteen minutes or so, as Niall listens and nods and laughs at all the right places, but watches Louis, all along.

The way that Louis laughs and leans close to Harry, when he’s trying to explain something. And the way that Harry’s hand comes reaching out, to pat at Louis' shoulder or catches one of Louis' hands, when Louis looks as though he might gesticulate himself into orbit. And Louis doesn’t flinch away, like he automatically would do were it anyone else, other than family, or Niall. (Or Eleanor, he adds to the list, unhappily)

But Harry probably doesn’t notice, because Harry probably doesn’t realize where Louis' boundaries usually are, and how far within them Louis has already let Harry, without even thinking about it, apparently.

He’s not going to worry about it, of course. Everyone here is an adult.

Niall might flag it up to Louis though, when the moment is right.

…

Harry sobers up a little, on the train home, which is a good thing because Louis had been fully gearing himself up for walking Harry to his door, and then returning to the station again. And Niall’s feet are thankful that the gesture isn’t needed.

Harry rubs his hand over his face, a couple of times, when the train starts slowing for the West Hampsted stop, but stands up steadily, and looks fully assured.

“I swear Louis, I’m fine - it’s like a two minute walk, and they’re well lit streets, with plenty of people on them. Stop worrying.”

“Text me when you get in, will you?”

“Sure thing - thank you for inviting me on your little London tour… and Niall! It was great to meet you.”

Niall stands up, giving the boy a squeeze, because even though there are probably only seconds before the doors slide open, he wants to make sure that his newfound affection towards this new person in Louis' life is communicated properly.

“It was good to meet you too… hopefully Louis can organize another little get together before I have to leave.”

“Yeah! I’d like that. Okay, this is me - bye guys.”

“Make sure you text me!”

Harry’s already on the platform, but turns to give Louis a thumbs up, and Niall snorts, as he sits back down next to Louis when the train moves off again.

“Am I to assume that if Harry doesn’t text back then we’ll be returning to this area to scour the streets?”

Louis rolls his eyes, and shrugs.

“Whatever, I just worry about him, you know? But do you like him?”

Niall refrains from raising his eyebrows at Louis, because he supposes it isn’t that crazy of a question.

“Yeah - he’s great. I can see why you like him.”

Louis nods once, as if he is very relieved about Niall’s answer, and sits back in his seat, yawning. After a moment, he pulls out his phone.

“Louis, I doubt that Harry has managed to get home yet.”

“No- I wasn’t… oh shut up.”

…

Harry does text, by the time they pull into their stop though, and it seems that he and Louis exchange a number of messages as they complete the walk to Louis' apartment. Niall is happy to walk in silence, and play a small, hopeless game of ‘spot the stars against London’s light pollution’.

At the apartment, Louis kicks off his shoes, and then flops back onto his bed with a sigh, resting his phone on his chest. Niall laughs at him, and then collapses onto the couch, pretty much ready to sleep until tomorrow afternoon.

He doesn’t though, because there is a conversation that he needs to have with Louis; one which isn’t exactly linked to Harry, but might well be in the near future, Niall senses.

“Louis. Lou?”

“Mmmmph?”

“Eleanor?”

Louis lifts his head, looks at Niall, groans, and then collapses back onto his mattress.

“What about Eleanor?”

Niall considers making some very choice remarks at this point, about the wisdom of maybe declaring himself  _ actually _ single, before becoming too emotionally attached to someone else, but saves it for another time.

“Does Harry know about Eleanor? Because there were times tonight when I nearly mentioned her, but then didn’t, because I didn’t know whether you’d told Harry about her.”

Louis props himself up more fully this time, and Niall can tell that he is trying to weigh up how best to answer. After a moment he clears his throat.

“Why wouldn’t I have told Harry about Eleanor?”

Niall shrugs.

“You tell me.”

Louis frowns slightly, and then looks away from Niall, at a random picture that’s resting on the floor for no reason that Niall can tell.

“I’ve told Harry about Eleanor’s existence, I guess. But not like, the whole thing. Um. I don’t know - it’s private.”

“So what does Harry know? Just so I know where the lines are?”

“Well, I mean, I’d prefer it if you didn’t discuss Eleanor at all, really, but… he knows about her. And knows, that she wanted to get married, and I said no.”

Niall absorbs this, and then says “But he doesn’t know about the dubious, year long break that you guys are on, and that Eleanor, Eleanor’s family, and your family fully expect you to return to her loving embrace once you’ve got your nerves out of your system.”

Louis swears at him, a couple of times, and Niall gets glared at.

“No he does not, but mainly because I feel like enough of an idiot about it, and when you describe it like that I feel twice the idiot, so.”

Niall tips his head back, looking at Louis' ceiling briefly as if searching for divine guidance. And then he looks back at Louis, the boy has disappeared horizontal again.

“Louis, I swear I’m not trying to be a dick. I just think that maybe it might be better for everyone if you made some kind of definitive decision, rather than this hanging around business.”

One of Louis' hands appears, gesticulating at the ceiling as he tries to get his point across.

“Ni… I just needed a bit of time separate from her. I needed to have a bit of my life that wasn’t ‘Eleanor and Louis’, before she started waving rings at me. And I know it sounds stupid, and a bit selfish, and I probably will spend the rest of my life with her, but I didn’t want the rest of my life to start  _ then _ , you know? Who even gets married at the age of twenty four? I could have  _ killed _ her, when she demanded marriage.”

Niall sidesteps all of that discussion, because this is old territory for them both, now.

“But you still love her?”

Louis rolls onto his stomach, and hides his head under a pillow, groaning.

“What does love even feel like, after you’ve been together for four years, or whatever? I still care about her, yes. I don’t want to hurt her. I think we will be good together, and will make each other happy, and blah. I just didn’t want to do all that  _ yet _ .”

Niall nearly makes a point about the contrast between the message in Louis' words, and the message in Louis' body language, but doesn’t, because he’s good at sensing when Louis is nearing his breaking point. So instead he grunts once, in agreement.

“Well, I can see why you wouldn’t want to tell Harry all that…”

Louis flips his middle finger, in Niall’s general direction, and then says “Can we talk about this when I’m not so tired please?”

Niall snorts at him, and then stands, stretching himself out and picking up his washbag.

“Sure thing Lou - I’m going to get ready for bed, okay? Try not to have any more life crises while I’m gone, okay?”

Louis swears at Niall, and Niall laughs automatically, as he’s heading towards Louis' bathroom. But he sobers quickly, when he closes the door.

Because it’s a little fucked up, this situation. 

And has the potential to be a lot fucked up, if Louis isn’t careful.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously you have no idea, I've just blitzed 2000 words in under three hours. Something of a record for me.


	15. Part Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.

**…**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Louis is a little bit grumpy, with Niall, the following morning. But that’s entirely to form, whenever Niall makes Louis talk about something that he doesn’t want to talk about. It translates into Louis being oddly polite over their late breakfast, and playing with his watch strap more than could ever be necessary.

But Niall has done a little reflecting, during the night, and he thinks that maybe Louis needs to feel guilty, at least for a short while, because even if Louis hasn’t noticed the situation that he is in danger of getting himself into, Niall has. And there is nothing wrong with a moment of introspection, just to consider any potential misdemeanors.

One of the challenges, Niall decides, of moving to a new country, is that a person must lose their network of support, and of people who know you well enough to question your actions, if they consider them to maybe be not fully on the line of acceptable. It probably takes a bit of time, until friendships reach a point where questionable behavior can be raised.

Niall thinks that Louis might have only really reached that point with Harry. And that’s sort of the problem really.

So Niall let’s Louis sit there, and stew, playing awkwardly with the corner of the laminated menu of this worrying cafe that he’s brought them both to. Niall talks, of course, talks about the other friends that he plans to call in on, whilst in London. But it isn’t real talking, not really, and Louis knows it, sitting there on fifty percent grumpy, and fifty percent mournful.

It’s only when Niall takes a big mouthful of what he had assumed to be coffee, but then turns out to be tea, that the tension breaks. Because Niall swears in surprise at just how disgusting it tastes, and then swears again for good measure, and Louis is clapping his hands over his mouth to try and hold in the giggles, looking like a delighted kid.

“Niall, you can’t swear about tea - that’s practically treason, around here.”

Niall grumbles, because he really needed coffee, and tea is just not going to cut it, and slides his cup towards Louis, nodding at him.

“Here, you have it - I’m going to order a coffee.”

Louis shakes his head, warning Niall.

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t, the coffee is really bad. You should drink the tea. At least that way it is a cultural experience.”

Niall tries to not look too aghast, and sits back down heavily.

“What the fuck is this hell-hole that you have brought me to?”

Louis shrugs, looking at the tabletop.

“They do a mid to average full English, which is basically all of your nightmares on a plate.”

Niall continues to look at Louis, until he glances up, and rolls his eyes, apparently at himself.

“Harry brought me here once - I wanted to pretend I knew the area.”

Niall snorts, and then clears his throat, pointedly, until Louis tips his head back, and sighs.

“Okay, fine. Point taken. Maybe I’m slightly too dependent on Harry, right now.”

Niall smirks at him, and then shrugs his shoulders, because that still isn’t exactly what Niall was getting at, but it is maybe close enough, for now.

…

They make it through the rest of the weekend without discussing Harry further, because there are other things to discuss, such as college friends and who is hooking up with who and what is happening on all the tv shows that Louis is currently missing. Louis in return, explains in a startling amount of detail the ins and outs of a show that Louis refers to as ‘Depression Street’, which sounds so impossibly complicated that Niall almost doesn’t believe it actually exists. And then Louis finds it on the television (or at least, he thinks he finds it, apparently the schedule is almost impossible to predict), and Niall happily creates a drinking game involving a shot every time the show makes you want to kill yourself, and they lose a couple of hours doing that.

Louis can’t take the entire week off, but he can take the Friday off. So they spend a great deal of time consulting Niall’s contact list, and cross checking it with the crazy tube map, the one that Niall can’t look at without feeling a migraine coming on. Louis says something about Harry, at this point, as if he can’t actually not, but Niall smoothly ignores him, because maybe constantly talking about Harry is not particularly healthy for anyone. 

…

“Have a fun day then.”

Louis hitches his bag slightly higher on his shoulder, and nods at Niall, who is still lounging on the couch, happy to be in his pyjamas on a wet Monday morning.

“Yeah - will you be okay? Sorry to abandon you.”

Niall shrugs, perfectly content.

“Of course - I’ve got a map, I’ve got money. I’ll be fine. I’ll try and housewife for you, and cook a meal for when you get back.”

Louis looks like he is about to protest, but Niall has lived through Louis' culinary skills, and they both know it is for the best.

That day, Niall does manage to meet up with a couple of his friends, and negotiates the tube network without falling into any gaps, and manages to cook a meal for that night before Louis returns home. They eat, and watch television designed to depress, and Louis falls asleep with his head in Niall’s lap, which Niall will allow because lord knows he has taken a few liberties in his time.

Louis’ phone is one that Niall doesn’t recognize - one that work has given him apparently, but it is that phone that Louis keeps close to him, and it is that one that lights up a couple of times. Niall can see the word Harry, and smiles to himself quietly.

The boundaries of friendship are funny things, sometimes.

…

The days pass smoothly, and Niall thinks that maybe he could live in London, possibly, if the weather could be tamed and he could bleach clean all the streets first. He definitely enjoys the sensation of how strange every British person seems to find him, and how the shop keepers seem to recoil from him in horror and confusion whenever he first speaks to them.

But Niall likes feeling weird and out of place, and Louis, to the best of Niall’s knowledge, very much doesn’t.

It’s that thought which reminds Niall of a different thought, that he had, and he raises the question when they are half way down a bottle of wine on Wednesday evening, and Niall judges the moment to be right.

“Hey, Lou… I’m really impressed with you - have I told you that yet? But I would’ve never put you down as a ‘move to the other side of the planet’ sort of person.”

Louis shrugs, looking quietly pleased with himself, and pokes at his food with his fork.

“Yeah, no, I’m surprised too. I’ve surprised myself. There were times at the start when I thought I was going to die, though, so it hasn’t been smooth sailing.”

Niall pours himself another glass of wine, deliberately not looking at Louis for the next question so he doesn’t feel watched.

“You said that you think you would have come home, if you hadn’t met Harry.”

Louis makes a small noise in the back of his throat, and then looks at his food, laughing at himself slightly.

“Oh god, put it like that and I sound a bit crazy… um. I just meant - I just felt like he understood me, you know? I was completely lost with everyone else, and didn’t understand the rules of any of the social games, but- it’s probably because we are both American, but yeah, nothing was difficult, about hanging out with Harry. He made me stop feeling homesick, in a strange way.”

Niall takes a sip of his drink, deliberately not noticing the way that the tips of Louis' ears have gone pink.

“Hey, whatever works, you know. He’s a cutie - I can see why you like him. I’d be friends with him too; though we’d have probably gone to bars, not all these suspect cafes that the two of you keep visiting.”

 

“I don’t like him because he’s  _ cute _ , he’s just, you know. Harry. The person I moan about work to on the train.”

Niall shrugs, like Harry’s cuteness was what was actually being talked about then, and Louis didn’t just randomly insert it into the conversation.

“Like I say- whatever works. Try not to become too co-dependant though. Try not to like, fuse at the hip.”

“Fuck off… what’s for dessert?”

“Whatever you are making, Tommo.”

“Oh.”

…

The next day, while Louis is at work and Niall is on his way to locate a bank that can transfer him money, he gets a message.

_ Um, so Harry is coming to eat with us tonight. Is that okay? I’ll cook. _

Niall laughs, because honestly, he loves Louis, but the girl sure is oblivious sometimes.

_ Of course - but I’ll cook, that way Harry doesn’t have to strain all his politeness muscles pretending to enjoy the food. _

The reply of  _ ‘how dare you. But also good idea, thank you’ _ is almost instant, and Niall types out another message whilst standing in line.

_ Is this a special occasion, or anything?  _

The message back from Louis takes a bit longer, but when it finally arrives it reads;  _ No, not really. I thought it’d be nice to see him when we’re not both stressing about work. _

Niall sends back a cheerful reply, because he is cheerful - he very much enjoyed the time he spent with Harry over the weekend.

Besides, it’s hardly a car crash yet, is it?

…

Louis comes clattering through his door at a half canter, and announces “Don’t worry, I’ve already decided I’m wearing my jeans and the green sweater.”

Niall blinks, because he hadn’t been worrying about what Louis was going to wear, and then bends down, to check that the oven is actually preheating rather than just pretending to pre-heat.

“Oh- kay. Cool. Have you decided what I’m going to wear?”

Louis looks at him like Niall has grown an extra head, and then scoops up his chosen clothes in his arms, heading for the bathroom.

“What? No, weirdo, you wear what you want. I’m going to quickly shower, okay, and then I’ll help you with dinner.”

Niall snorts, grinning because he’ll believe that when he sees it, but Louis has already disappeared, and Niall can hear the shower shudder into life.

Then Louis reemerges, looking carefully casual and smelling great, he does actually spend two minutes trying to look useful in the kitchen, fumbling around with an onion until Niall shoos him away with a wooden spoon, instructing him to put some music on instead. Louis does so, and then spends what feels like a full hour doing laps of his tiny apartment, cleaning up things which weren’t even untidy in the first place, while Niall restrains from getting him to breathe into a paper bag. It’s a relief when the buzzer to the flat goes, frankly, because Louis' nerves are rubbing off on Niall.

Louis freezes, and Niall bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

“I’ll get it shall I?”

…

The evening passes well enough, once Louis manages to sort himself out. Though Niall is pretty sure that he will be frequently reliving the awkward way Louis bumbles through greeting Harry, all poised elbows and a hug that Harry initiates, when it looks like Louis might fall over from indecision. Harry hugs Niall easily, and Niall squeezes at his shoulders, removing the bottle of wine from his hands in a simple movement.

“Hello Haz - do you want Louis to give you the world’s most thorough tour of his tiny apartment, or straight to the wine?”

Louis swears at him a couple of times, which Harry laughs at, and nods at Niall.

“Straight to the wine - I think I’ve earned it, the last couple of days that I’ve had…”

It’s easy though, because Niall has decided that it is easy, and because Louis seems to relax, the longer that Harry is there. They eat spaghetti, and compare stories from college using superlatives such as ‘most embarrassing’, and ‘best worst first date’. 

It’s funny, and Niall laughs a lot, particularly when Louis relaxes enough to produce his first scream laugh, and Harry almost falls off his chair giggling at Louis' giggles.

Niall lets the two of them deal with clearing up, because he’s done with jobs for the day. Instead he sits on the couch with the television on, and tries not to watch the way that Louis tries to refuse Harry’s help, and Harry happily ignores him, grasping at the dishcloth and scooting into Louis so he has to step sideways.

They giggle a lot, and Niall is pretty sure that Louis is flicking water at Harry, at one point.

Harry leaves soon after, and Niall let’s Louis do the goodbyes, waving at Harry from the couch, because it isn’t Niall that Harry came to see, not really.

Louis is blushing pink, when he comes to sit down, adjusting the hem of his t-shirt pointlessly and deliberately not meeting Niall’s eye.

“Thanks Niall, for cooking.”

Niall laughs, and bites his lip, before stretching.

“So, I need to tell you something about Harry.”

Louis crosses his ankles primly, looking at Niall with knowing eyes and half a smile.

“If you are about to remind me that Harry’s gay-”

“Nope-”

“Or, you know, announce that he is into me, because you always think that new people in my life are into me, and that isn’t why every new person that starts talking to me, I do have some qualities beyond my cheekbones or whatever you think-”

Niall looks at Louis steadily, and refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Lou; you know Harry far better than I do, I’m not about to tell you what is going on in his head.”

Louis sighs, and rubs at his face, looking relieved.

“Okay, good.”

Niall clears his throat.

“No, it’s about you really. It’s you that I know. And so I know what’s going on in your head.”

Louis blinks at him.

“And you are attracted to Harry. But you haven’t spotted it yet. But you definitely are.”

…


	16. Part Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.

Louis' first instinct is to laugh, because really? He’s never heard anything so ridiculous.

“Okay- um. In the Venn diagram of Harry and Eleanor, where is the overlap? Because Eleanor is… I mean physically there’s some significant differences.”

Niall is observing him, and it is making Louis blush, and he doesn’t like it.

“Sure, if we are talking about physically attributes then yeah, they don’t match up. But I’m just saying, the way that you behave around Harry is exactly the same way you behaved around Eleanor in the early days. But magnified, somehow- maybe you’ve grown into your flirt skills. But yeah, you are being all, giggly awkward and approachable and easily embarrassed and such, instead of your usual fortress of ‘you may come so far, and then  _ no further _ ’. It’s cute.”

Louis stiffens,  because Niall is reading this wrong.

“No, Ni, it’s just a friends thing. He’s just a good friend.”

Niall bites his lip, and then shakes his head, looking away.

“I’m sorry, but no matter how intense the bonding experience of British public transport, you have not known him for long enough to be a ‘good friend’. Harry is a new friend, who you have crazy amounts of chemistry and compatibility with, and who you get all nervous about, before you are going to see him.”

There’s something weird happening in Louis' chest, and he thinks it might be panic.

“I- no. I don’t do that.”

“You haven’t  _ noticed _ that you are doing that. There’s a difference.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, and finds himself staring at the television screen, searching for a response.

He feels…

He laughs. 

“Niall, I think you are reading a bit much into this - he’s my main friend here, so I guess maybe things look a little bit intense but,”

“And there’s the fact that you haven’t told him that  _ officially _ , you and Eleanor are just on a break.”

Louis crosses his arms, trying not to automatically get defensive now that Niall has brought up Eleanor.

“But surely that that is just a sign that Harry and I aren’t as close as you think - I’d have mentioned that to him, if I was becoming emotionally dependant.”

“Emotionally dependant? Whatever- all I’m saying is that you want to make out with him. There’s a newsflash for your brain. This has been an announcement. Just… be aware, okay? Try not to self-sabotage, you know that I always feel guilty afterwards. Anyway, I’m going to make a coffee - do you want one?”

Louis hesitates, caught between the temptation of an easy end to the conversation, and wanting to defend his corner a bit more.

“I… yeah, okay. And I think you are wrong, by the way.”

Niall shrugs happily as he gets up off the couch, as though he knows Louis' brain better than he does, and Louis frowns to himself. 

And then he checks his phone, but remembers that only Harry has that number, and frowns to himself a bit more.

…

That night, Louis very deliberately thinks about Eleanor.

He thinks he does miss her, maybe. They have fun together, and she makes him laugh - mainly at what a giant dork she is. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get married to  _ Eleanor _ , per say. He didn’t want to get married, full stop. Eleanor is fine, regardless of what Niall has to say, about Louis settling for someone who doesn’t light his heart on fire. Perfectly acceptable, were it not for the fact that now, anytime he thinks of Eleanor, the unavoidable question of marriage looms and makes Louis feel like he is operating on one less lung than usual.

Louis doesn’t really know what the point of the break was, other than to give him a bit of breathing space and sort his head out before he made up his mind, one way or another.

The thought of permanently separating himself from Eleanor feels terrifying. There’s the shared account, and the mortgage, and the decidedly unsettling question of whether Louis has any of his own friends, other than Niall, or if all of them are just friends with  _ him and Eleanor _ .

Although it isn’t Louis and Eleanor. On all the Christmas cards it is  _ Eleanor and Louis _ , as though all of their relatives had a collective meeting, and decided that ‘Eleanor and Louis’ was the order which sounded better. 

Louis is ninety nine percent certain that such a meeting never took place, but it makes him feel uncomfortable, nevertheless.

Of course, none of this has anything to do with Harry, who Louis isn’t thinking about, because who lies in bed thinking about their friends?

…

The next morning, Louis should be on the train, but he has taken this day off for a reason - Niall is only in London for a couple more days, and Louis doesn’t want to waste the time.

He’s trying not to think about Harry, but his brain keeps circling back to the idea, always with new evidence as to why he isn’t attracted to Harry.

Which is why Louis finds himself standing in the shower, trying to imagine Harry and Zayn kissing.

They’re almost the same height, Louis decides. And Zayn would probably be… irritatingly needy and demanding, and Harry would probably try to control the kiss a little bit, just to set some boundaries. But Louis doesn’t feel jealous, doesn’t feel anything like the mental apocalypse he imagines he would, if he was attracted to Harry.

Besides, Harry and Zayn clearly aren’t going to work out, if Harry’s thoughts on that are anything to go by. They’re clearly a thing of the past.

If Louis was attracted to Harry, he would hate saying goodbye, every day on the train. 

But, even though the goodbye is usually just a ‘see you tomorrow’, Louis doesn’t hate it. Sure, his days are better when he’s seen Harry in the morning, but it is hardly as though his happiness depends upon it.

This is stupid, Louis decides. Louis can see that Harry is attractive. That doesn’t mean that he’s about to be overcome with passion, the next time Harry sits down next to him on the train.

If this makes Louis' brain start doing strange things he will  _ kill _ Niall.

…

For the final few days of Niall’s visit, Louis makes a mental pact to not mention Harry at all.

(And sure, he knows that Niall might read into the absence of Harry in his conversations, if he so chooses to do so, but there’s no helping that. Being normal doesn’t seem to be an option.)

Instead, he tries to talk about Eleanor, talk about what he is missing about her, because he doesn’t hate Eleanor; not in the slightest. He thinks she’ll make someone a great wife, some day. He just thinks that he’ll be a terrible husband.

Niall isn’t very good at talking about Eleanor though, and Louis gives up after the first few efforts, because he always ends up feeling like he is trying to convince someone of something, and he hopes to god that it isn’t him.

They go out dancing both nights, in bars and clubs that Niall has mysteriously managed to find despite only being in London for about three minutes tops. Louis doesn’t suggest inviting Harry, and Niall seems to be operating under the same rules.

They dance with strangers; they both do, always keeping an eye on the other and shooting grins over the shoulders of women, before excusing themselves and finding someone else to buy them a drink. Louis allows one of the more persistent women to put her hand on the small of his back as she stands next to him at the bar, and he thinks of Eleanor’s hands, and the way that they always seemed to know what they were doing, never hesitated, were never uncertain.

The small of the back is as far as it goes, and it is Niall’s hands, that Louis remembers more than anything, holding him up and helping him home and taking the keys off him when inserting the correct one into the lock seems to be a hurdle too far.

Louis cries, for ten inexplicable minutes, although he can’t remember why. It’s just a thing that happens. Niall wipes away his tears and shushes him and feeds him potato chips until Louis doesn’t feel so sad, about whatever it was. After another ten minutes, Louis is laughing at Niall’s jokes, until he feels like he might die, and this whole evening feels blurred at the edges, until he’s in bed, and Niall is climbing in with him, kissing him once on the forehead.

“You’re a little drunk Tommo, and I’m nobly here to take advantage of your mattress and make sure you don’t fall out of bed.”

Louis smiles some, and concentrates on not mentioning Harry, because there is no need to mention Harry, no need for his name to be pressing at the roof of his mouth.

“I don’t, Niall, you know. I don’t, he isn’t- I can’t, he’s-”

Niall shushes him again, which is probably for the best, and the blankets are warm, and maybe that is all that matters.

…

He has a headache, the next day. And feels stupid.

Niall doesn’t let him dwell though, because he has to leave by mid afternoon, in order to catch his flight.

So it’s a late breakfast, and then there are a handful of hours to fill. 

Louis has no ideas, but luckily Niall is here, and nothing is boring, when Niall is here.

“We’re making a scrapbook, okay? Of my London invasion.”

Louis snorts at him, and then rubs a hand over his face, trying to feel normal.

“Sounds good - I didn’t have anything else planned, so-”

“I figured - that’s why I’ve already bought everything we need. Cause when I have an idea I commit to it.”

Louis giggles, and then laughs even harder when Niall leans over the edge of the couch, and suddenly starts producing double sided sticky tape and glitter and a glue gun, as if from nowhere.

…

“You know it is okay, Louis? If you do? It isn’t a disaster, or a cause for worry, or anything like that.”

Louis sighs, and slides the photo back towards Niall. He’d been trying to look at it subtly, but had clearly failed completely.

It was a photo that Niall had taken, of Louis and Harry, on their tourist themed adventure, down by the Thames. Louis had one arm around Harry’s waist, and was pointing in one direction, with a look of mock surprise on his face. And Harry had decided to rest both of his hands on Louis’ head, and was looking in another direction entirely, looking vaguely horrified.

The picture makes him smile, even though he is fighting against it. He has a feeling that Niall had printed it out deliberately, just to prove a point, or maybe just to give Louis an opportunity to smile.

Niall had asked him a question, he remembers.

“Yeah, I mean… this isn’t a gay panic, or anything. It isn’t, I just… you’ve made me second guess every single one of my thoughts, and now I have no idea what I think, any more.”

Niall nods, picking up the photo as if considering whether to apply glue to the back of it. Louis finds himself talking again, to fill the gap.

“It would make everything incredibly complicated - I think that’s the main thing that I’m fighting.”

Niall shrugs, deliberately not making eye contact, and it is probably a good thing, because Louis might shut down entirely, in direct response.

“Or it might make everything incredibly simple, you know?  In the long run.”

Louis bites his lip, unable to respond in case he surprises himself and says something too accurate. Niall glances at him, after a moment, and smiles softly, squeezing at his shoulder fondly.

“You funny thing… keep the photo, okay? And you know that I’m always on Skype, if you ever need to talk.”

Louis nods dumbly, fighting the sudden lump in his throat, because he’s going to miss Niall, not matter how many times he comes charging through his life and flips everything upside down.

…

Niall squeezes him extra tight, at the platform when they parts ways. All of Niall’s baggage pools at their feet, and Louis is aware that they are causing an obstruction, but finds he doesn’t care, not in the slightest.

“Try to remember to keep breathing, okay? And don’t stop talking to me.”

Louis nods a couple of times, his chin resting on Niall’s shoulder.

“Okay. Good advice. Have a safe flight, Ni.”

The rest of the goodbye is quick, because otherwise Louis is going to start crying, and he doesn’t want Niall to worry.

On the train, Louis pulls the photo of him and Harry out of his bag.

(And yes, he did deliberately put it in his bag, but it doesn’t have to mean anything, why does his brain keep insisting that it means something?)

It looks like a scene from an alternative universe, somehow.

Louis runs his fingers around the edges, aware that fiddling does nothing to take his mind off the situation.

He feels guilty. 

It coils in his stomach, clutching for his heart.

 


	17. Part Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WELL HERE WE ARE AGAIN.
> 
> Hi. You look great. This is chapter seventeen of an AU fanfic - nothing is real and everything is a lie. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> …

**Chapter Seventeen**

When Louis gets home, he does something that he knows he probably shouldn’t.

It’s just that Louis thinks that he probably  _ is _ lonely, and maybe it is for the best. Because it has been long enough. And there are all those emails, and his mom keeps reminding him, and it isn’t as though there is any real reason to maintain this wall of silence.

The icon is right there.

Louis puts his bag containing the photo as far away from him as possible, and then presses the button, before his reason catches up with his impulse.

The screen flickers into life, and Louis remembers that it is still pretty early, on a Sunday, in Jersey, but that doesn’t matter.

Because he knows Eleanor, knows her routine, and knows that she’ll still be in her sleep wear, but will have been up for a couple of hours, laptop on the dining room table, her on the couch with the papers and a coffee. He knows what picture will be behind her head, knows what she’ll have spread on her toast.

It’s comforting. He supposes.

There’s a pause, while Eleanor no doubt jumps to her feet at the alert, and checks and then double checks that it is actually Louis who is trying to connect with her on Skype, and then brushes any loose crumbs off her clothes, and runs a hand through her hair. And then the call connects, and there is Eleanor, looking startled in the room that Louis still thinks of as  _ their _ living room.

Louis smiles at her, and then wonders how much he would hurt himself if he launched himself sideways out of shot and pretended that the connection was a mistake, but too late now, because  _ this is happening _ .

“Um. Hi.”

Eleanor grins, the way she does when she is nervous, and then waves at the screen, like the massive dork that she is.

“Hi, hi! It’s really good to see you. Did you… did you get my messages?”

Louis doesn’t look at her, because it is difficult, and instead looks at his own face in the corner of the screen, where conflicting emotions are running high.

“I’m… yeah. It felt weird, not talking to you for so long. I’m… actually, I’m just going to make a cup of t- no, coffee. A cup of coffee. And then we can like, talk. Or just watch television together, or something.”

“No, no, I would actually like to talk to you, about things. Just simple things. After you’ve made your coffee.”

Louis gives a thumbs up, and then tries to not back away from the screen.

Talking to Eleanor is always easy, he reminds himself firmly, whilst opening the jar of coffee that Harry bought for him.

…

It is easy enough, after the initial conversational paralysis, in which Eleanor had been using the strange voice that she employs when politely speaking to one of Louis' aunts, and Louis had been as skittish as a startled cat. But eventually Louis manages to unwind a couple of notches, by looking at things behind Eleanor and remembering what home used to feel like. And Eleanor had sensed his increasing relaxation, and her voice had become more normal, until a third party might say that this was normal, that this was just a normal conversation.

Louis asks about her mom, and then asks about  _ his own  _ mom, because he’s sure that Eleanor knows more about his mom than he does at the moment. And then he ends up wandering down his new favorite conversational path.

“So it’s this show, and I think it is on every night, and basically everyone is leading a really shit life, veering from disaster to disaster, but it isn’t like a season finale or anything like that. It’s just a never-ending parade of depressing plot lines. It doesn’t stop.”

Eleanor looks suitably awe-struck, and Louis continues.

“So I can only assume it is on the television as near permanent therapy for anyone who is struggling. Like - sure, your life might be bad, but at least you aren’t experiencing this level of depression on the regular. I think if anyone had to live through these storylines for real, then they’d have a break down and be committed within a year.”

Eleanor nods a few times, smiling fondly at the screen in the way that she does when she’s feeling a lot of something, and Louis looks down at the desk, struggling.

“So it’s your favorite show now, am I right? You’re obsessed?”

Louis squirms in his seat, but finally laughs, resting his chin on his hand and flipping Eleanor off.

“I’m not  _ obsessed _ , but yeah, I do kind of love it. I keep thinking that things must start going right for one of them,  _ surely _ . And I can’t stop watching in case I miss it.”

Eleanor laughs, and pokes at her camera lens a little bit, and Louis watches as her out of focus giant fingertip blocks out the screen a couple of times.

“This is me poking you because you are an idiot.”

Louis snorts, and swats at the air as if fending her off.

“Whatever - I bet you’ve managed to develop some tragic television habits as well. Real Housewives of wherever, is it?”

“Oh sure, like I’m going to crack under that feeble interrogation.”

Louis laughs at her, before taking a sip of his now too cold coffee, trying to not get too carried along in this conversation.

Because he’s always gotten on well with her. Has always  _ liked _ Eleanor. Has always been attracted to her.

It’s just that when she wanted to get married, Louis had automatically veered away.

Eleanor must have sensed his change in mood, because she sobers quickly.

“Hey. I miss you.”

Louis sighs, looking away from her and putting his mug down with a tap.

“Don’t do that.”

“I know, I know… I just wanted to say it.”

Louis shrugs, unable to reply, because he does miss home, and Eleanor is part of home, but whether that means that he misses Eleanor is an equation beyond him.

“Have you- did you get a chance to read my last email, or-?”

Louis shakes his head, because he hasn’t had any time to himself, with Niall being here, and on top of that he had no desire to read an email from Eleanor with the title ‘Serious’.

“No, sorry, I’ve been busy… I’ll read it tonight, I guess.”

Eleanor nods, as if that is settled.

“Yeah, please do. I’m going to say that we end this call now, and you read the email. Because… I don’t know, this conversation is difficult because I keep wanting to talk about real things, but I know you don’t want to, so-”

Louis holds up his hands, as the threat of face to face serious questions is enough to get him to agree to read the ones sent via email instead.

“Okay, sure - I’ll do that now. You have a good day, okay?”

Eleanor nods, looking wistful, and waves once at the camera. Louis waves quickly, and presses the correct button, hoping that his goodbye didn’t seem too abrupt.

…

_ Hi Louis. _

_ I hope you are doing okay. Your mom seems to think so. I’m really pleased; I know you wanted to live in a different country at some point. _

_ I guess this is just an email to say that I miss you. And I worry that you aren’t missing me. You said that you wanted a year, and then you’d decide. But I didn’t realize that you meant that you wouldn’t be in touch at all. I think about you every day. _

_ Was living with me that bad? I thought that we were good together. But you’re making me feel like you are happier without me. _

_ Shit, I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t send this, because I know you don’t want me to pressure you, or whatever. I just feel like I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. Have we broken up? Are we over? I don’t want us to be over. But having some kind of answer would be good, I guess. The not knowing is killing me. _

_ The bed has stopped feeling like ‘our’ bed and nothing is right about that. _

_ I love you. _

_ Eleanor. _

Louis blinks at the screen for a long time, resentment and guilt and sorrow swirling rapidly inside him.

He opens a new message.

_ Hi. _

_ We deal with things differently, Eleanor. This is how I’m processing. _

_ We aren’t over. But, _

The cursor blinks at him for a long time, as Louis tries and tries to decide what comes after that ‘but’.

Eventually he just deletes the word, and then presses send, closing his computer quickly in the hope of pretending that this entire thing hasn’t happened.

…

Louis has half a bottle of wine, which he probably shouldn’t, and finds a romantic movie to watch, which he probably shouldn’t. He probably shouldn’t get the photo of him and Harry out of his bag, which is why he doesn’t.

The circumstances of the evening, plus the circumstances of everything else, are why he gets into bed that night feeling a little spaced out, as though none of this is real and all of this is happening to someone else.

He’s a little bit cold, and a little bit lonely, and a little bit drunk, which is why he ends up imagining Eleanor is in bed with him.

It’s because she is always warmer than him, and so while he is thinking about how cold his feet are, the mental connection is obvious.

He wouldn’t be cold if Eleanor was here. And Eleanor would probably be… well, they hadn’t seen each other in a long time, so Eleanor would probably be a lot more than just warm.

He’s got work in the morning, which is reason number one of five thousand as to why Louis shouldn’t be trying to get himself off, but none of them seem to hold much weight, now that his room is dark.

The other reasons involve emotions running too high, reality looming too large, and the vaguest suspicion that maybe he’s been hiding something from himself for too long.

After a few moments, whatever misplaced reality he had been reaching for dissolves away from his mind, and Louis sighs, removing his hand from his boxers and rolling onto his side.

With terrible timing, his phone lights up on the bedside table, and Louis props himself up on his elbows, peering at the screen.

It’s Harry, because of course it is.

_ Hey - I hope you and Niall had a great final few days, and that you aren’t too sad that he has left. x _

Louis is proud of himself, really proud, of the way that he doesn’t automatically text back, because it is past midnight, and that is too late to start a conversation with Harry.

But the thing is, as Louis lies there, feeling lonely and remembering that Harry is a hell of a lot closer to him than Eleanor is, geographically speaking… the thing is that Louis realizes that Harry must be lying in bed, thinking about him.

He wonders if Harry is attracted to him. Niall hadn’t commented on that. (Though he’d commented on everything else under the sun.)

Louis thinks that he might  _ hope _ that Harry is attracted to him.

Because, and this is all purely hypothetical of course, but he thinks that Harry would be very good in bed. And,  _ hypothetically speaking, _ were Louis to decide to respond to a move Harry made (because of course, he’d never make a move himself), then it would hypothetically be this bed they’d end up in.

This bed, or Harry’s bed. And Harry’s bed is far trickier to have to imagine, so this bed will have to do.

And Harry would probably be the sort of boy who would like to be in charge, and make the other boy feel good, and in this  _ entirely hypothetical _ scenario, that boy would be Louis, and that is why Louis is now imagining Harry on top of him.

There’s a confusing few moments, in which Louis doesn’t entirely know what happens, but then he decides that pressure is probably all that is really needed, for this to work, which is useful, because now his hand is back where she needs it to be.

_ Of course, this is all just workshopping _ a tiny, giddy part of his brain says, as the rest of him concentrates on finding a rhythm and remembering the way Harry smells and imagining the way Harry’s voice would sound, if he was whispering in his ear.

It works, or maybe he just has a really active imagination, or maybe it has just been too long and this is how his body responds to stress, or maybe maybe maybe all of this is irrelevant because thinking is getting trickier.

His fingers are sticky, and Louis speeds up, hoping to reach the moment when he can’t think about  _ anything _ , because that would be a blessed relief.

Harry would be a good kisser, and Harry would have his mouth on Louis' neck, and Harry would not stop, and Harry would read Louis' mind, and be everywhere that Louis needed him to be, and his eyes would be so green and his skin would taste like heaven and his fingers would just be there, right  _ there _ , until Louis was swearing and then shaking, and then it would be happening and it would be  _ Harry  _ and-

Louis comes hard, biting his lip in case someone might hear.

Even though there is no-one to hear.

Shit.

Shit, he is so  _ stupid. _

…

Harry’s phone lights up.

_ Hey - Niall left okay, but yeah, I’m a bit sad. :( Thank you for thinking of me. x _

Harry grins involuntarily, placing his phone back on the table next to his bed, because it’s too late to text.

He’s looking forward to seeing Louis tomorrow.

(Probably too much for his own good.)

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this might be NSFW idk


	18. Part Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Greetings. Hello. Take a seat. This is an AU fanfiction.
> 
> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Right, lets get into this.
> 
> …

**Chapter Eighteen**

It’s a difficult few weeks, for Louis.

He’s not gay. He has performed a significant mental review, and has established that the notion of male anatomy does nothing for him. Like a dedicated student, he has reviewed the data, and drawn a sensible conclusion, underlining it several times in his head.

This does nothing to stop the nightly routine of getting himself off whilst thinking of Harry, but  _ nevertheless _ , this does not mean that he is gay. Or into Harry, or whatever. This is instead merely a symptom of loneliness, and a fear of the future, and whatever nonsense Niall has polluted his head with.

So during the day he sends at least one message to Eleanor, to remind her that he doesn’t want to throw everything they built together away, and remind himself that she still exists.

If only she hadn’t basically proposed, he might even be starting to feel like he did want to marry her, at this point. If only she had just managed to be a  _ bit  _ more patient.

Every day, he sees Harry. Harry riding on the tube, without his scarf now because they are easing their way through spring.

Every day, Louis tells himself that he’ll do something, anything, be early or late or ill or anything, to not be on the same train as Harry. Just to break the cycle. To stop himself from looking at Harry’s fingers, or the tendons in his neck, or that one lock of hair that refuses to stay behind his ear.

Every day, he gets on the train which is due to have Harry on it.

This is a crush, Louis tells himself. He’s survived those. Hell, he’s had vague crushes on people whilst he was with Eleanor. None of them ended in disaster. All of them were a meaningless curveball that his brain decided to throw him, when things with Eleanor had gotten a bit stagnant. It doesn’t  _ mean _ anything. Hell, Louis is sure that Eleanor has experienced similar, and she  _ still _ wants to marry him.

Soon, when his brain has processed this and Louis has merged unscathed on the other side, he is going to Skype Niall and call him out on his tendencies to create drama in his life when there is zero need for any of it.

…

When Harry gets on the train, he always throws up the same hand in greeting, giving a little half waggle, even though they’ve already noticed each other.

And Harry always keeps his bag on his knees, his fingers playing with the buckle on it, as he chats away animatedly about his previous evening. He’s joined a book club, and is actually managing to have a life outside of work and Louis. This is something that Louis is intensely envious of.

Harry always uses the same shower gel, or maybe shampoo, and every day Louis gets a wave of it, particularly if the carriage is crowded and they have to stand close. It’s vaguely citrusy, and Louis thinks he can feel his mouth react.

Harry’s lips are always the same shade of soft pink, and Louis feels sure that he shouldn’t know this much about any of his friends’ mouths, but here he is. Harry’s tongue catches on his teeth when he tries to explain something quickly, and Louis hopes that some part of his brain is maintaining a sensible conversation. He can see that Harry is chatting away to him, but all Louis can seem to do is watch his mouth, or his eyes, or his hands, and wonder.  _ Wonder _ .

…

His distraction obviously comes with a down turn in his ability to stay on top of his game at work.

Louis is pretty sure that he isn’t going to get fired, but he is very aware that his boss Abdul no longer considers him his favorite intern. Zayn seems to get the nicer jobs.

Or maybe that’s just his imagination, which certainly has a lot to answer for, as Louis sits at his desk, and imagines Harry kissing at his neck,  _ like that is a normal thing to do? _

He blinks a few times, and then shakes his head, as though Harry is lodged in there somehow. Zayn notices, and smiles sympathetically.

“Are you okay? If you aren’t well I’m sure Abdul would let you go home?”

Zayn is just trying to be nice. It has nothing to do with the important job lined up for this afternoon, that Louis knows Zayn is desperate to take responsibility for. Not everything is a conspiracy theory.

Louis pinches at the bridge of his nose, vowing to be a better human, from now on.

“No, I’m fine - thanks. I’m just a bit zoned out.”

Zayn nods, gesturing at his coffee cup. “I can go get you a coffee, if that would help?”

Louis doubts it will, but accepts anyway. When Zayn returns with the mug it smells bitter to his nose, and Louis sips at it too quickly, scalding his tongue.

…

That night, Louis opens up his laptop, determined to prove to himself that staying in contact with Eleanor is something that he wants to do, determined to prove that he is still undecided.

He’s all set to compose an email, he’s got the routine down pat. Eleanor asked for greater contact, and now she has it. She gets a daily, breezy email. Louis tells her about the mundane, and lists what has happened at work. He tells her about Eastenders,  _ and _ Coronation Street (he’s figured out that it is two different shows now, he had  _ thought _ that the accents had sounded weirdly inconsistent), and what he had for dinner. He tacks on a couple of questions about her family, and her work, and off it is sent, a small message in which nothing important is said. Job done.

Eleanor has messaged back a few times, always with slightly more meaningful questions, which Louis blithely ignores, in the next message.

This is one of those evenings, when there is a message waiting from Eleanor. Louis sighs like he has been set an assignment, before catching himself. 

He makes himself a coffee (with the jar of coffee that Harry bought him) before sitting down and opening up the email.

_ Hey Louis, _

_ I’m probably going to be rewarded with another couple of weeks of silence after this one, but can you tell me something real, for once? If you tell me about the color of the tiles in your kitchen, or the number of dogs that you saw in the park, I swear I’ll go mad. You are talking to me like I’m your penpal. _

_ I want to have normal conversation with you. If you are lonely we can video message or something. It must be really tough, being in a strange country by yourself. _

_ You know that if you want to come home that’s completely cool with me? I’d love that. It wouldn’t be failing, okay? If you aren’t happy you don’t need to keep doing it. _

_ I love you (just not all the emails about nothing!) _

Louis stares at the email for a long time, before realizing that he is  _ furious. _

_ Hey Eleanor, _

_ You know how we have arguments sometimes because you are a patronizing asshole sometimes? _

_ Yeah. _

Louis presses send, and then spends the rest of his night chasing bad television across the airwaves, because he needs to yell at  _ something. _

…

“Louis…Louis?”

Louis starts slightly, already panicking that Harry has realized that Louis spends most of his days thinking about all the ways in which he is trying to  _ not  _ think about Harry.

“Hey - sorry. What’s up?”

Harry frowns at him, looking concerned.

“Just worried about you, that’s all. You look a bit out of it.”

Louis attempts to laugh lightly, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a chill.

“Oh, yeah… I’m just tired, I guess. I’ve not been sleeping well.”

Harry nods a couple of times, and rubs at his shoulder, trying to provide comfort. And Louis could just leave it there,  _ why isn’t he leaving it there? _

“Eleanor has been playing on my mind.”

Harry raises his eyebrows, as if he wasn’t expecting that, and then clears his throat.

“Yeah? Is it more emails?”

Louis hums, looking away from Harry, out of the train window which is just reflecting his image back at him.

“Yeah… I think I miss her, or something. I did really like her. She’s making me feel, I don’t know. Maybe this is all a mistake.”

It’s a lie, blatant and obvious, and so Louis edits.

“Or maybe just affection. I think I miss affection. She was always affectionate. I always felt loved.”

It’s probably too deep, for before nine am on a commuter train, but Harry takes it in his stride, saying “That’s understandable. It must be hard, going from a long term relationship to being single - it’s a bit of an adjustment.”

Louis agrees, pointing his toes inwards and looking at how little space he can occupy, if he really tries.

Harry half laughs to himself, and bumps his shoulder into Louis'.

“You know, my friends at home always tell me I’m too affectionate. So, you know, if you are running short on hugs, or whatever…”

Harry grins at him, winking for dramatic effect, and Louis forces himself to laugh, even as his throat tightens up and his heart burns with yes.

…

That night there is another email.

_ Okay, fine, so you do that. _

_ You know, in Friends Ross and Rachel were on a break, and then were basically idiots to each other for ages until they got together. So I’m just going to mark this down as one of our idiot moments. _

_ We’re on a break, huh? I’ll started behaving like it. I’ll leave you alone, if that’s what you want. I’ll let you process this quarter life crisis by yourself. If you come to any kind of conclusion please tell me, so we can both start the next chapter of whatever we are supposed to be. _

_ I want it to be you and me. But I know that it isn’t just my decision. _

Louis sighs in exasperation, before breathing in slowly through his nose and closing his laptop.

He can’t believe that Eleanor has just  _ Ross and Rachel _ -ed them.

…

The next day Louis gets a sufficient grip on himself to ask Harry to come for a drink after work that day.

As they walk down a sunny Hampstead street, Louis tries to breath in and out steadily, and think about all the reasons that he is  _ friends _ with Harry.

They get on well, and have compatible senses of humor. Harry is always more than willing to act the dork, something which makes Louis laugh easily and loudly. And Harry is very honest, and genuine, and straight-forward. Louis likes to think he has similar qualities, and all of that as well as the shared experience of being alone in London probably means that they were always going to be drawn to each other.

Harry seems to slouch very frequently, and Louis wonders whether Harry always does this, or whether it is a reaction to walking next to Louis.

He wonders whether Harry even notices that he is doing it.

It’s sunny, and it is still warm enough for Louis to not need his coat. He shrugs out of it, throwing it over the back of the bench they occupied in the tiny beer garden, and sitting back, trying to relax.

There’s at least one drinks worth of easy talk, which mainly revolves around Harry’s astonishment that Louis has only just discovered that there is more than one soap opera on British television. Louis goes to buy their next round, letting the barmaid flirt with him a little just because it is the polite thing to do, before weaving his way through the crowded garden to their seats.

Harry looks up at him, and grins, shading his eyes against the setting sun. And the sun just catches him, somehow, and Louis feels that familiar lurch in his stomach, the one that is telling him that he truly is fucked, now.

“Thanks. Hey - I’m glad we are doing this.”

Louis nods, sitting down quickly and hoping his cheeks aren’t blushing too obviously.

“Yeah - me too. It’s good to talk to you when I’m not also psyching myself up for work.”

Harry hums in agreement, before taking a sip of his drink and clearing his throat.

“I was kind of… worried, I guess, that you were mad at me. I’m probably just being highly paranoid though; I’m good at that.”

“Why?”

Harry shrugs, looking down at his drink.

“You’ve been a bit distant, I guess. But then I figured that you probably weren’t, but rather just being a regular friend, and  _ I  _ was the one who was a bit crazy for being too clingy or whatever. That’s why I joined a book club, to try and not be so reliant on you.”

Louis purses his lips, not really sure what to say to that, every direction feels like a trap. In the end he settles for “Sorry - I’ve had lots on my mind. I’ve not being meaning to be distant though. Niall thinks I’m too reliant on you too. He doesn’t get what it is like to feel homesick, I think. I doubt he ever feels it.”

Harry nods, and Louis wonders if this is the kind of conversation that friends have, or if they are blurring boundaries. Because Louis knows that, deep down, maybe he was holding himself distant, but only because he was worried about being too close.

“We should get away from work some more. Do stuff not linked to the morning commute. God knows it feels like it is eating my soul.”

Louis shrugs, thinking about how doing anything with Harry sounds wonderful, because just being close to Harry is like basking in sunshine right now, and oh god he is crushing so  _ hard _ , isn’t he? Way to go brain.

He definitely needs to speak to Niall. And yell at him, maybe, because Louis didn’t come to London to fuck with his own head  _ further _ .

Niall would laugh at him, and tell him that he should just go for it, and  _ what is the problem, exactly? _

And Louis worries that he’ll realize that maybe there isn’t a problem, not in the way that he needs there to be.

…


	19. Part Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :)
> 
> This is Chapter Nineteen of an AU fanfic - nothing is real. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Harry becomes aware, gradually, that he is worried about Louis.

Eleanor in South Jersey, however dismissive Louis is of her whenever he discusses her, is clearly playing on his mind.

Harry can see it in the way that Louis becomes quieter and quieter, on their journeys into work. In the way that Louis' hands fidget with a reckless sort of energy, so much so that Harry is tempted to put his hand over Louis', and squeeze once, to reassure. He can see it in the way that Louis will sometimes drift in and out of a conversation, or answer in circles that never seem to fit the conversational gaps that he is leaving.

The drink at the pub probably settles his conclusion, because Louis admits that he has been out of it, these past few days. But there is something in Louis' eyes, something so close to  _ please try to understand _ , that Harry accepts it. He’s not over Eleanor. There is something that Harry isn’t fully aware of, but it doesn’t matter because the long and short of it is that Louis is hurting somehow, and Harry needs to give some support.

Harry tries to maintain a steady sort of contact with Louis, over the few days after their post work drink at the pub. Messages him about the television that he is watching, calls him once to see if he wants to get a pizza together, that sort of thing. It’s the behavior that Harry would do for any of his friends, and Louis is very much Harry’s friend now, they’ve crossed the acquaintance boundary into the magical world of messages sent in all caps.

Ed is devastated, of course. Skype allows Harry to see the way that he slumps, when he explains that Louis is straight and pining for a girl.

“Oh shit, for real? I could have sworn that there was a budding romance on the cards. Who is this  _ Eleanor? _ Where did she spring from?”

Harry sits back in his chair, amused by Ed’s lack of amusement. 

“Some former long term girlfriend. I’m not fully sure of what happened, but it ended in a mess, from the sounds of things. And now they’re back in touch and… I don’t know. Fill in the blanks. But yeah, Louis is sad. Sorry. No romancing to happen here.”

Ed grumps at him a few times, tipping his head to one side as if Harry has failed on an assignment, and then shrugs.

“Okay. Well. Whatever. But look after him, yes? I’ve grown quite attached to this Louis that I’ve never met. Must be the glowing way in which you describe him.”

Harry nods, reaching out to check his phone, because all this talk of Louis makes Harry want to see if he has been in touch in the last ten minutes.

“Well. He is this charming bundle of goof, so I can’t really describe him otherwise.”

Ed snorts, and then points at Harry, from thousands of miles away.

“And you look after yourself, hey? No falling for a straight boy, we all know what happens when you allow yourself to do that…”

“Hey, why is it that everyone is so anxious to give me really obvious advice? I have no plans of allowing any romantic feelings to flourish, okay? Please downscale your disaster alert system from a red to an amber.”

Ed clutches at his chest dramatically.

“Only to  _ amber _ ? Oh no are  _ you  _ at risk of falling? This is a disaster, there is nothing worse that an unrequited otp - okay, okay, I’m joking, of course, don’t look at me like that.”

Harry rolls his eyes, because he is never quite sure with Ed, sometimes. Ed clears his throat, and continues.

“Anyway, how about… was it Zayn? Is that still happening?”

“Nah - I mean, we are still in touch now and then, but there is nothing for you to get excited about.”

“Good lord Harry; you know that you have to put some effort in, if you want to get laid? Or are you joining a convent?”

“Shut up Ed.”

…

It’s strange how, just talking about Zayn, seems to summon Zayn to Harry’s inbox.

Harry’s had a good day at the office, all told. He’s enjoying the projects that he gets given, and Harry is feeling increasingly competent at the new systems that he has to work with. His boss had gone out of his way to tell Harry how impressed that he was with his work in this quarter, and basically everything feels good, about now. Harry feels incredibly lucky.

Of course, it would be slightly too much to expect to run into Louis during the journey home, but they already had plans to order take out and eat at Louis' flat. Louis keeps insisting that Harry watches bad television with him, and Harry doesn’t know what to make of it but is playing along anyway.

When Harry pulls out his phone just to double check that Louis hasn’t had to cancel (Harry worries about these things more than he actually should), there is a message waiting for him from Zayn.

_ Hey - how are you? Want to come out this weekend? - there’s this work party, someone is leaving. We’re going to go out dancing, if you are up for it? I remember that you guys were good at dancing. Let me know :) _

Harry texts back a positive without really thinking about it, because he would like to go out dancing, but he isn’t sure how to ask Louis to go out dancing with just him. It could sound like something which it isn’t, no matter how hard Ed crosses his fingers. So a work party sounds like a perfect excuse. 

Harry can remember how happy Louis had looked, when he had been dancing at Zayn’s house. So maybe they need a bit more of that in their lives. More dancing, less silently thinking about Eleanor in their heads. It can’t be healthy, Harry worries.

…

When he gets to Louis' house, bag of take out in hand, Louis looks flushed, as if he had just been rushing around, but happy, really happy, and some internal part of Harry breathes a sigh of relief in response. He grins at Harry as he waves him in, and Harry places the bags on the kitchen counter, before poking Louis a couple of times in the side, which is his way of saying  _ hello goof, don’t worry you don’t have to hug me. _

“Hey - you alright? How was work? Shitty or good?”

Louis shrugs happily, gesturing at the table.

“Yeah, kind of in between  - but that doesn’t matter, you brought food! I’m starving - did you have to wait long for it?”

“Nah, about ten minutes, and at least this way it is still warm, rather than having driven around half of London…”

They eat in a comfortable sort of silence, with the television playing out in the background, while Louis points at the screen with his fork in outrage on a minute by minute basis. Harry finds himself watching Louis, more amused by him than whatever is on the screen.

“I thought you call this Depression Street - why the good mood?”

Louis wrinkles his nose, and then shrugs, smiling quietly to himself.

“Oh, I’d just finished talking to Niall via Skype - he always puts me in a good mood. Even if he keeps insisting on talking about things I don’t want to talk about.”

Louis looks like he regrets the sentence the second it is out of his mouth, and Harry nods, and then looks back at the screen, trying to somehow pretend that he hadn’t heard it.  _ Eleanor, _ he thinks. Louis picks up his fork again after a hesitating moment where he just gazes at Harry, as though trying to pick apart the workings of the universe.

Someone is drinking in the show. It reminds Harry of a convenient conversational out.

“Oh, I meant to say, Zayn invited me to that work gathering that you guys are having this Friday - I said I’d go. Do you know what sort of time everyone is meeting up? We could travel in together, it’d be good to go dancing, I thought?”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a half second, and when Harry looks over at him, Louis seems oddly rigid, before relaxing, and shrugging his shoulders a few times.

“I don’t know what time - I don’t know what this Friday thing is.”

“Oh.” Harry frowns, because he’s sure that Zayn’s message implies that he was expecting both him  _ and  _ Louis to come along. “I’m sure they’ve just not mentioned it to you yet - I obviously don’t want to go if you aren’t going…”

Louis clears his throat, and then starts speaking in an oddly stilted tone, as though someone has flicked off his ‘normal’ button.

“No, you should go with Zayn, he’ll like that. You’ll have a great time.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest, but everything about Louis' body language is screaming  _ stop talking _ , so he closes it again unhappily. Something happens on the television, and Louis plunges somewhat frantically into a lengthy explanation of a character’s backstory, as Harry wonders what just happened.

Zayn wouldn’t invite  _ just _ Harry, that doesn’t make any sense, Zayn must know that Harry would definitely mention it to Louis.

Louis is now talking animatedly about absolutely nothing, and Harry can’t help feel like he is missing something, over and over again.

…

There was a plan for Harry to stay and watch a movie with Louis, but by the time they’ve both finished their meals the tension is almost pinning Harry to the ground, so he starts making his excuses.

The problem is, he genuinely does just want to go dancing, and Harry can’t understand why Louis has closed down to the extent that he has. Harry even tries to talk to Louis about the idea of just him and Harry going out, and fuck the work thing, but Louis just keeps going on about how Harry has said yes to Zayn now. And the entire attitude feels really unreasonable, somehow, and so Harry is automatically defensive. And Harry’s defense translates into the real world hyper politeness, and so that is why Harry is excusing himself like some excessively polite asshole from a Jane Austin novel.

“I really should go - thank you for the evening.”

“Thank you for coming… wait, I owe you some money-”

“No, no, it’s on me. I insist.”

_ I insist?  _ Harry doesn’t even know who he thinks he is, but by now he’s managed to back out of the door, and Louis is standing in the door frame, looking a little lost. He rallies, though.

“I hope you have a really good time with Zayn.”

And wow, shots fired. They’re having an argument, Harry realizes. A really polite argument which is entirely unreasonable, and all hinged on the fact that Harry was invited to something that Louis wasn’t, but even that probably isn’t true. From Louis' recent behavior, it is entirely possible that the night out has been mentioned to Louis, and Louis just didn’t even register it, too busy thinking about Eleanor, and whatever the fuck went down.

Harry worries that he is jealous of a woman that he has never met. 

They stumble through tightly polite goodbyes, and Louis hesitates into shutting the door. Harry makes it easier for him by walking away, half jogging across the landing and pivoting sharply around the handrail to head down the stairs.

Outside there is a chill in the air, and Harry feels cold and regret, gnawing at his fingertips. He wishes he had his scarf, and wishes that he was still with Louis, and wishes that he had been able to spot the magic combination of words which would have made Louis unbend, and relax again.

He doesn’t  _ want _ to have a really good time with Zayn. He wants to have a really good time with Louis.

“Harry - wait.”

Harry turns automatically, and there is Louis jogging towards him, looking like heaven even if he feels like hell, in his coat with a pair of flip flops on his feet. It is oddly incongruous, and Harry fights a smile.

“You’ll get cold feet.”

Louis squints at his own feet for a second, and then shrugs, as though that’s besides the point.

“Sure… um, look, come back up, will you? If you’d like to? I’m sorry I was being an ass, I just thought - I don’t know, I guess I was jealous that you were invited to a social thing for my work that I didn’t even know about, and it just made me feel really lonely again, all of a sudden, and that sucked because it stopped all my words from coming out normally, and-”

There’s a wobble, and then a crack in Louis' voice, and he looks like he is on the verge of crying. And so Harry steps forward and hugs him, because that is what a friend is supposed to do, when someone they care about is sad. Harry hugs Louis, and ignores the dirty looks that he might be receiving from passers-by.

Louis inhales really sharply, as if suprised, and then relaxes a bit, allowing himself to be hugged, and wrapping hesitating arms around Harry’s back.

“Hey - you don’t need to feel lonely, okay? And I genuinely don’t give two shits about the people at your work, I just wanted to go out dancing with you.”

Harry can feel Louis nod a couple of times, and then he hides his face on Harry’s shoulder, breathing in a shaky breath.

“I know, I just, I was just being a bit fragile, I guess. Behaving like a child. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

Harry squeezes him, ignoring a car horn that honks.

“It’s fine, I was being a stubborn mule too.”

Harry registers that he’s just holding Louis now, and Louis is letting him, and this is hitting too close to home now, and he can feel the tightness in his chest. He leans away, but that’s no better, because now Louis is looking at him with watery eyes, and he’s just there and Harry will absolutely  _ not  _ glance at his mouth, he will  _ not _ .

“I figure we should go back up to your flat, and plan out the most dramatic way in which you can crash this work party thing and make everyone feel terrible.”

Louis smiles at that, and Harry moves himself away, because there’s playing with fire and there is  _ actually setting yourself aflame _ , and if Harry holds a ‘sad but bravely smiling through it’ Louis for any longer there is no accounting for what he might do.

It doesn’t help that he could swear that Louis glances once at his lips, just before he lets Harry go.

 


	20. Part Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello yes :)
> 
> Part Twenty. All lies, nothing is real. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> …

**Chapter Twenty**

Louis is invited to the work drinks plans the next day, of course.

Zayn breezily throws the suggestion at him five minutes after Louis arrives, and this was clearly all hastily put together in the last half hour of work the previous day. And the only reason Louis didn’t know about it was because he’d left early that day, in order to tidy his flat for when Harry came around.

“I’ve invited Harry too, by the way - you two are still friends, right? You’ve stopped mentioning him so much?”

Louis nods, trying to not feel under scrutiny, because what does it matter what Zayn thinks, at the end of the day?

It’s drinks in a local pub, with a follow up plan of going dancing at a club that Zayn knows. Louis pretty much just interrogates Zayn for dress code guidance, because he doesn’t fancy getting caught in a vortex of far too cool again. But it sounds like a standard club, and Louis hazards that he should probably wear the sort of thing that he would wear when going out dancing back at home.

He refuses to over-think why he is so excited, even as he and Harry rapidly message back and forth with clothing plans for the night. Harry sends him a picture of his chosen outfit, and Louis can’t help but remember how to unbutton shirts, and the way that Harry will always roll his sleeves up to his forearms.

…

It isn’t as though Louis has deliberately chosen an outfit that coordinates with Harry’s, but it does seem to match. Harry is wearing a light blue shirt, and waves as he spots Louis approaching, at their designated meeting point.

“Hi - you look fantastic, as always. Good idea on the coat; it is chillier than I anticipated…”

It took Louis about four days worth of indecision, tightly compressed into a half hour, before he decided upon the coat. He is glad he did though, because it means Harry tucks himself into Louis' side, whilst they wait for the train. And what is personal space anyway?

“You could wear it, if you want?”

“Oh no, thank you. My ego couldn’t take the knock.”

They talk easily throughout the journey, and Louis finds himself unable to wait until he’s had a few drinks, because then easy talk might become slightly too honest talk, and he wants to make a slip, and say too much. Hiding behind alcohol is such a poor excuse, but it is the best he has got right now.

Eleanor keeps talking about being on a break (or she mentioned it once, whatever). That makes this okay.

Harry says something at that moment, and then rubs his fingers over his mouth as he thinks about his next point, and  _ god _ Louis wants to kiss him.

…

Zayn greets them happily, with enthusiasm that belies the fact that he just saw Louis about four hours ago. But then Harry gets a hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek, and  _ goddammit _ , Louis thinks. If only he could figure out how to hug Harry when he sees him, rather than this weird routine of elbows which appears to be entirely of his own creation.

Harry disentangles himself quickly though, and waves at every other person that Zayn diligently introduces him to, politely repeating their names back to them. Louis doesn’t know why Zayn is suddenly in charge, surely he could have done that? But there it is, and then it is over, when the attention turns away from them, and Harry focuses back on Louis.

“Hey - do you want a drink? Let me buy you a drink?”

Louis goes over to the bar under the pretence of looking at the menu, and Harry stands on his tiptoes at the bar, peering at the drinks in the chiller cabinets.

“Your work people seem nice.”

Louis shrugs, inspecting the menu like he is going to have anything other than a vodka and soda.

“I guess. I mean, they are nice. They just aren’t really my sort of people; I always feel like there is this big underlying competition going on.”

Harry smiles at him, and Louis feels something else cave in.

“Who are your sort of people?”

Louis frowns, gesturing vaguely at Harry. 

“Well… you. And, Niall. And… I don’t know, Lottie, my sister, sometimes.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at him, and murmurs “That’s a pretty short list…”, but then the bartender is with them, and Louis doesn’t have to justify what he just said.

…

The group quickly tire of the bar, and Zayn’s off again, leading them all around in that relentless way of his. Louis has to down his second drink in double time so as not to get left behind, but Harry’s there, with an arm around his shoulders. So of course Louis puts an arm around his waist, and lets himself be guided out.

“I’m so glad you are here, Haz.”

If Louis was a little drunker he would press a kiss to Harry’s temple, just to emphasize that point. But he isn’t, so he doesn’t. Harry’s hand tightens on him slightly, and Louis wonders what Harry would do, if he were a little drunker.

“Well, I am on the list, aren’t I? Me, Niall, and Lottie. On a good day.”

It’s a damn stupid list. Harry’s on a list of one, right now, Louis decides. ‘People that Louis would want to be leaving a bar with’.

He’d say it, too. If he was a little braver.

…

Louis ends up thinking a great deal about Niall, over the next couple of hours.

Every Skype call has become Niall listing the reasons why Louis should make a move on Harry, and why they’d be wonderfully compatible together, and why it might be the best thing Louis has done in a long time. While Louis sits on the other side of the world, denying that he is even the slightest bit interested in Harry, and listening to Niall’s lists over and over again, as though sheer repetition can make a thing come true.

Niall would be rolling his eyes pretty hard at Louis right now. Because events have transpired, and things have happened, and drinks have been drunk, and they’ve moved on to another club, and now Harry is somehow not dancing with him, but with Zayn.

It’s just that Louis was one drink shy,  _ just one drink _ , of being able to say ‘yes, I’d love to’, when Harry had asked him to dance. Instead he’d ummed and ahhed, as if the question was somehow challenging. And Zayn had been right there, because that’s where Zayn always was, and oh  _ of course _ Zayn wanted to dance. 

And Louis had nodded, and had promised to come join them once he’d actually finished his drink, but that was five songs ago and Louis can’t do anything other than continue the polite small talk with this office stranger called Dan, and stare at Harry in a way that must be desperately obvious.

Niall is telling him that he is an idiot, somewhere. Because Zayn is dancing really close to Harry, and Harry isn’t exactly fighting him off.

Louis thinks about dancing like that with Harry, in a club like this, and the thought  _ terrifies  _ him.

Dan is still talking, probably about cricket for all Louis cares, and all Louis can think about is how he is an enormous fuck up, who thinks that maybe only terrible people want to make out with cute gay boys in private, but heaven forbid anyone sees them.

He’s just one of those tragic commitment-phobes who latch on to  _ anything  _ new rather than actually settle down to the life that they are meant to have. 

The drink becomes bitter in his mouth when Louis thinks about Eleanor, and  _ now _ he thinks he might throw up.

By the time he makes it to the bathroom, the impulse to be sick has gone, but is replaced by a new, just as unappealing, impulse to cry. And Louis has no control over that impulse, and so locks himself in a cubical, hiding his head in his hands.

He’s more than a little drunk, he remembers. Maybe that makes this whole thing less terrible.

…

Harry comes to find him just as Louis is managing to pull himself together.

“Louis?”

Harry’s has a bit of a lisp when he’s had a few drinks. Louis adds this to the ‘pointless things about Harry that nobody actually needs to remember’ file that he is keeping in his head.

Louis exits the cubicle, and tries to play it off like everything is fine, but he knows that his eyes are red, and Harry’s not stupid. Harry grabs at his hand, and tugs it once.

“Hey. Let’s go outside for a cigarette.”

Louis squints at him, gulping down a laugh.

“You don’t smoke.”

“Neither do you. But they don’t know that.”

Harry’s making no sense, but Louis goes along with it, happy to be somewhere darker.

…

It’s dark outside, and the bouncer nods at them as they step down into the street, double checking the ink stamp on their hands so they can be allowed back in. 

Louis hopes they don’t go back in.

Harry actually does produce a cigarette from somewhere, and Louis leans on the wall next to him, watching as Harry rolls it between his fingers, lighter nowhere to be seen.

“I swear to god, if you tell me it is a metaphor-”

Harry snorts at him, and puts it between his lips, unlit.

“And what would you know about metaphors, Hazel?”

Louis reaches out, and tugs it away from Harry’s lips, placing it between his own, and thinking about indirect kisses.

“Too many things.”

Harry watches him, for a long moment, and Louis wonders if that is hunger, that he reads in Harry’s eyes. Because here it is dark, and here nobody is watching, and here Louis can imagine Harry getting too close, until Louis has no choice other than to kiss him.

Harry looks away, eventually, out into the street, where taxis idle.

“What were you crying about?”

Louis has been telling too many lies, recently. Omitting too many truths.

“Not Eleanor.”

Harry’s eyes widen slightly, and Louis feels a little  _ too _ drunk, all of a sudden.

“Not- I wasn’t being, you know, sarcastic, or anything. I just - yeah, I don’t know. I’d come with you, but you were  _ dancing _ with Zayn, and-”

Harry cuts him off, and Louis is grateful because that sentence ends with him declaring his enormous, unreasonable, and irrational crush.

“Man, I’m sorry, I should have come to find you sooner. The rule is dance with the one who brought you, and I was trampling all over that rule.”

_ God _ , Louis feels like a child.

“No, I mean, of course you can dance with whoever, I just, I guess I was just feeling a bit lonely - I don’t really know any of them that well.”

Harry stays quiet, and  _ wow _ , okay, Louis really needs to reign it in a bit, because no matter which side of the friendship/lover coin this night lands on, coming across as a socially inept anxiety disaster is attractive to no-one.

“Let’s go somewhere else. Just you and me.”

Harry blinks slowly at him, and yep, this time that is definitely Harry licking his lips when he looks at him, Louis isn’t going to try and deny it.

“What about everyone else?”

Louis shrugs.

“It’s you that I want to dance with.”

And that seems to settle it.

…

It takes a few more drinks, because dutch courage has to come from somewhere, but this club is darker, and this time Louis doesn’t feel so watched, and it is only  _ dancing _ , for goodness sake.

It isn’t as though anything indecent is happening, although now Louis is thinking about indecent things happening and the thought is so intense that he feels as though his limbs are going to stop working.

He’s probably had too many drinks, but that is okay because Harry is  _ here _ , and Louis doesn’t even recognize this song anymore.

Louis is dancing closer than he needs to, and when he stumbles slightly Harry puts his hands on his hips to steady him. And yes, more of that, even as one of his lungs threatens to shut down because he  _ wants _ , so badly.

“Hey - we should probably take you home, huh?”

He wants to dance, but he also wants to not be in shoes anymore, and he also wants to be home with Harry, wherever and whenever that could be. And here’s his coat, and here’s a cab, and here’s Harry, sitting next to him and holding his hand.

“Shhh, Louis, you’re fine.”

“Am I being weird?”

It’s a burning question, but Louis doesn’t really get a response, just a steady thumb drawing a circle on the back of his hand.

…

The cab driver had opened one of his windows, at Harry’s request, Louis thinks. Which is good because Louis is now about ten degrees colder, but fractionally more sober too.

Sober enough to realize, with very high levels of astuteness, that this is not his flat.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I trust you to be able to get yourself to bed.”

“Fucking Eleanor though - she’s an ass.”

She isn’t, Louis thinks, not really. And there is no real reason to be bringing her up, but Harry is shushing him, and now they are inside, where it is warmer. 

Louis is wondering if there is a cheat code to just skip to the bit where he is in bed (with or without Harry, at this point. He’s tired. And stupid.)

“Hey, let’s get you some water, okay?”

“Harry, I’m sorry.”

Louis mumbles through many apologies, to many different people, as Harry guides him to the bed. There’s a glass of water in his hand, and Louis concentrates on not dropping it, and then concentrates on drinking it all.

“Here, let me- come here.”

Harry is easing his coat off him, and Louis lets him, because he has been thinking about Harry’s hands too frequently, and to have them moving along his limbs with deft care is enough to render him speechless.

“And now shoes - shoes off Louis, you can’t sleep in your shoes.”

Grumbling, Louis bends over, but the buckle is confusing, and then he hasn’t got the necessary force defeat it. Harry crouches in front of him, tugging one shoe away, before the other, while Louis watches his hands and his mouth and his neck.

“There - teamwork!”

Harry is in front of him, kneeling, and grinning, and is somehow really close. Or maybe all distance is an illusion.

Louis leans forward to kiss him, but bails halfway through, turning it into a pointless, pointless hug. Harry reacts after a moment, patting Louis on the back a couple of times.

“Hey - you okay?”

Louis wants to make a noise, but all he can really think about is how Harry smells really good, and how the things that Louis wants always seem to be surrounded by insurmountable obstacles.

Harry, probably concerned by the lack of response, comes to sit next to him, murmuring softly at him. And while comfort is nice, what Louis really wants is something entirely different.

So he rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, and lets Harry talk nothings at him, about how he is fine, and how everything is going to be okay, and everything with Eleanor will be fine, until everything is really not okay, and it is then that Louis presses his mouth to Harry’s neck.

It’s more of a nuzzle than a kiss, and all Louis is really saying is  _ hello, yes, I am into you and available right now _ , but Harry freezes anyway.

“Louis - don’t do that.”

Louis is close enough to feel Harry’s heartbeat thundering away underneath his skin, and the hesitation in Harry voice tells a whole different story to what he has just said.

But then he suddenly feels too drunk, and too tired, and too everything, for this. And so he collapses back onto the bed, pulling the cover over his head.

“Mmsorry.”

He’s the worst sort of idiot, he decides, before sleep takes him under.

…

 


	21. Part Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone,
> 
> This is an AU story. Everything is a lie. 
> 
> Thank you for the reads and feedback :)
> 
> …

**Chapter Twenty One**

Harry sleeps on the couch that night.

That isn’t where he starts the night, however. But when he wakes up that next morning with a mild headache and a murderous crick in his neck, it is because Harry has slept on the couch, with a cushion ill-designed to support his head.

He’s slept underneath Louis' coat, Harry realizes, when he blinks his eyes open, five minutes after coming to consciousness. It had been dark in Harry’s flat, and Harry hadn’t wanted to wake Louis up by turning on the light, and so when his fingers had encountered something warm and heavy to pull over his weary body, Harry hadn’t thought twice.

Harry had noticed that he had felt utterly surrounded by Louis, but the drinks in his system had managed to convince him that it was just because there was no getting Louis out of his brain. Not anymore.

At this point, Harry decides, he either needs to make out with Louis, or disappear from his life completely. Because he has failed on his own personal action plan of ‘not falling for the straight boy’. Although it isn’t exactly his fault, because Louis hasn’t been acting very straight at all, recently.

Kissing a boy’s neck like that isn’t a straight thing to do at all, no matter how thick the alcoholic filter. The way Louis had groaned afterwards, like a petulant child, before falling back onto the bed, had almost injected some innocence into the moment. But there had been nothing,  _ nothing _ , innocent about the way Louis had pressed his mouth to Harry’s neck last night. Ill considered, maybe. Innocent? No.

It’s going to be a difficult few days, Harry thinks, but maybe by the time the next 48 hours are over then he can be on a different continent. Maybe with a different name, if he really gets to work on it.

His sense of humor breaks through his feeling of impending doom, and Harry smiles at himself, rubbing a hand over his face, and glances over at his bed on the other side of the room. Louis is underneath the blankets somewhere, Harry can just about make out a few locks of brown hair.

Louis had been vulnerable last night, and Harry had been worried. The tears, and then the dancing, and then the laughter which looked close to veering back to tears at any moment, and the entire night had screamed of ‘help, everything is a mess’. And Harry swears that if he knew what needed fixing then Harry would be all over it, but all he has is the vague notion that this is still somehow to do with Eleanor the ex. It all translates into Harry wanting to be close, and wanting to protect him. 

After Louis had irresponsibly turned Harry’s insides into a mush by kissing him, he’d fallen asleep pretty quickly. The problem was that Louis had fallen asleep holding Harry’s hand, and Harry had been powerless to do anything to wake him up, and so had been forced to just stay, curled up on the edge of his bed.

He’d counted Louis' exhales and thought about what it would be like to fall in love in an easy sort of way, for once.

Eventually, Louis' hold on his hand had lessened, as he drifted deeper and deeper into sleep, until Harry had managed to ease away from him. Harry had shrugged on a sweater, kicked off his sneakers, and had tried to fall asleep without thinking about anything at all.

But now it is the morning, and there is no more night time uncertainty to hide behind.

Harry decides that the first thing he is going to do when Louis rises to the surface is apologize. He isn’t entirely certain what for, but he thinks that it is probably almost certain that Louis has spotted Harry’s entirely inappropriate feelings for him.

And if Harry faces up to them, then maybe Louis will learn to stop sending all these mixed messages to him.

His inner Ed tells him that kissing people’s necks is hardly a ‘mixed message’. He tells his inner Ed to shut the hell up.

It is sunny in this room now, because Harry hadn’t managed to close the blinds last night. 

He thinks about getting in the shower, but all of his clean clothes are on the other side of her bed, that he can’t really access without clambering over Louis. And maybe doing that freshly nude out of the shower isn’t the ideal way of breaking any tension.

Harry is just deliberating the stealthiest way to boil the kettle, when Louis sits up with a start.

Harry freezes, while Louis somehow manages to look around blearily with both eyes closed. His hair looks…  _ majestic _ , is probably the politest word for it, Harry decides.

Eventually Louis pries open an eye. Harry struggles to not vault behind the couch to hide.

There is an agonizing moment of silence, and then Louis clears his throat.

“Um. Oops, Sorry.”

Well there goes Harry’s opening conversational gambit. Harry instead settles for a quiet ‘hi’, all the while wondering how much of last night Louis remembers.

Louis blinks at him steadily for a moment, and then starts looking at various points on the wall, as though he is trying to get his bearings. He then looks back at Harry.

“You are underneath my coat.”

Harry nods, looking down at his knees briefly.  

“Uh, yeah.”

Louis nods back at him, as though he is learning nothing, and learning anything is currently far beyond any brain function he is currently capable of.

Eventually he blinks.

“Is coffee… a thing?”

Harry bites his lip, suddenly struggling to not laugh.

“Coffee can be thing.”

Louis nods again.

“I would like it to be a thing.”

…

Harry makes the coffee, and Louis accepts it from his position in Harry’s bed with a sheepish smile. Harry then apologetically scoots his way around the narrow edge of the bed, gathering up an armful of clothes, while Louis stares into his coffee, sitting up in the bed and wrapping both hands around the warm china.

“I’m going to shower. And then you can shower, if you want? I can lend you some clothes, as long as you don’t mind them being a bit big.”

Louis nods, smiling quickly at Harry, looking unbearably shy, and Harry almost tells him that he looks good in his bed. But that would be exactly the same as kissing him, and he isn’t going to do that.

In the shower, Harry very deliberately considers how to tell Louis that maybe he can’t be around Louis as frequently as he is used to. Because the combination of Louis' Eleanor inspired vulnerability, plus Harry’s hopeless, hopeless heart, means that all of this is just a bad idea.

When he comes out of the shower, rubbing at his hair vaguely with a towel, Louis is standing at his kitchen counter with a plate of toast in front of him. He’s wearing a pair of Harry’s sweatpants, and the hoodie that Harry knows he was just wearing a couple of nights ago.

“Hey - I made you toast. I nearly made you eggs, but then I balanced the risk of that going wrong compared to the possible good outcome, and went for toast.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say, and so says nothing other than a mumbled thanks which is going nowhere. Louis gestures down at himself.

“Are these clothes okay?”

Harry nods, thinking about how there is nothing okay about how his heart is reacting, and  _ holy shit  _ he is clearly in deeper than he ever thought.

Louis bites his lip, and Harry almost has to look away.

“Um. I’m remembering things about last night. I’m sorry.”

Harry still has nothing to say, and so shrugs eloquently. Louis looks down at his feet.

“Okay, I’m going to go shower and maybe drink a gallon of water.”

Harry nods.

“Okay.”

…

Louis is quiet, for the rest of the morning. When he emerges from the shower, looking squeaky clean and slightly more awake, Harry is half way through his round of toast.

“You sure that you don’t mind me borrowing these clothes?”

Harry’s found his voice again, and smiles at the small awkward figure standing hesitantly in the bathroom doorway.

“No, of course not. I mean, you don’t have to borrow them if you don’t want to, your clothes from last night were perfectly respectable-”

Louis gives him a look, and Harry stumbles to a halt gratefully, because he doesn’t even know what he was doing with that sentence.

“No, I - I like these clothes. If that’s definitely okay?”

Harry rolls his eyes gently, feeling like an idiot.

“Yeah, course - jeez, we’re making a proper meal of this.”

Louis snorts, and then comes over, stealing a piece of toast from Harry’s plate and smiling normally for the first time in a while.

“Avoidance tactics. Evasive action, some might say.”

Harry grins up at him, and reaches out to the hem of the sweater that Louis wears, tugging slightly.

“Yeah, we have something to talk about.”

Louis looks like he wobbles for a moment, and Harry thinks for one giddy moment that Louis is actually going to kiss him right now, but instead he looks away, past Harry.

“So you know how I made you toast?”

Harry smiles softly.

“Would you like me to make you some toast?”

Louis winks at him, looking a like a complete idiot, a beautiful beautiful idiot.

“Got it in one, genius.”

…

They watch television in an amicable silence, for an hour or so. Louis stretches a couple of times, and the hoodie rides up at his belly, and Harry has to struggle with himself not to look.

Eventually Harry tugs on some sneakers, because he’s out of milk and a few other vitals, and his local store has opening hours which are erratic at best.

“But you don’t have to go - I’ll be twenty minutes tops.”

Louis shrugs, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them.

“Are you sure? I could go - you’ve probably got stuff to do.”

“Let’s not start this again… I’d like you to stay.”

Louis smiles quietly, and then nods.

“Okay. Be quick.”

Harry does as he is told, although he restrains from actually running. 

Louis is… rebounding? Messed up? Playing games? Actually flirting with Harry in a genuine, sincere manner? Harry wishes that he could call Ed right now, as he browses down the refrigerated goods aisle. Just because he’d tell him to go for it, and maybe that’s all that Harry needs right now; a firm voice telling him to go for it.

A few hours ago Harry had been planning his sudden disappearance to Southern Europe. And nothing has really changed except for the fact that Harry now knows what Louis looks like when he wears Harry’s clothes.

Louis had mentioned avoidance tactics. Harry wonders what he is avoiding.

His trip back to the flat is slower, because now he is weighed down with groceries, but when Harry manages to nudge his door open Louis is still on the couch, and  _ imagine _ coming home to him every time.

“Hey.”

“Hi - do you need a hand?”

“Nah, I’ve got it - thank you.”

As Harry is putting objects away, randomly, into the first cupboard he comes to, he keeps glancing at Louis, who is turned away from him slightly, focused on his phone. He’s frowning, and typing quickly, and Harry worries.

Louis scoots up automatically when Harry comes to sit next to him, and puts his phone to one side, but Harry can see the worry etched there. 

“Is everything okay? Anything you need me to help you with?”

Louis shakes his head slightly, and blushes, looking down at his knees before right back at Harry, and the eye contact is  _ ruining _ him.

“No, its… Niall needs me to call him. He said something to Eleanor, but he won’t tell me, and… oh, I don’t know- I can’t do it here, with you.”

Harry’s systems started shutting down the moment Eleanor appeared in the conversation, and for an ex-girlfriend Harry sure as hell feels like he is having to do a lot of competing with her. So he sighs, and nods.

“Sure. Okay. You know, I think it might be good for both of us if you and Eleanor just came to some kind of conclusion, one way or another.”

Harry bites his lip after that, and frowns hard, looking away from Louis. Because there aren’t many ways of interpreting that sentence other than ‘it is crushing me every time you talk about Eleanor.’

Louis sighs after a moment, and then mumbles “You know Niall?”

Harry nods, because yes he does.

“Niall thinks -  _ knows _ that I have become too reliant on you. Like, he thinks I’m being terrible to you. Because I told him that I didn’t think I would have managed to stay out in London if I hadn’t met you, and now he thinks that I’m using you as some sort of coping mechanism.”

Harry shrugs, even as his throat tries to close up.

“Isn’t that what friends are though, really?  We’re all just someone else’s coping mechanism.”

Louis fingers flex pointlessly at his knees, as though he was thinking about doing something but then couldn’t.

“Am I your coping mechanism?”

Harry inhales a really deep breath, and  _ crap _ he has to work hard not to cry, right now, so speaking isn’t an option. He waggles a hand around vaguely, as a substitute answer. Louis continues.

“Cause I think I’d really like to be.”

That’s it. Harry turns to him, grabbing hold of one of Louis' hands and squeezing once, anxious to not be interrupted, because he has to draw a line here somewhere, pretending that this isn’t happening is good for no one.

“I know you say those things because you’re my friend, Louis, and I get it, I really do get it. But, I mean, I’ve tried, I really have tried to not do this, but I already feel too much for you, and when you say things like that it just makes me feel even more-”

Harry could keep going, could talk endlessly really, and about the disparity between the straight boy who needs affection and support, and the gay boy who can’t control his own heart. And the endless reasons why breaking up a long term relationship makes a person’s head do weird things, or the ever present dangers about falling for a straight boy, or why someone who genuinely was over someone wouldn’t keep bring up their name every two seconds. But he doesn’t get to say all that, because Harry looks at Louis once, and that’s when Louis rushes forward and kisses him.

Shit.

Harry freezes, and does nothing, while Louis hovers millimetres away from him, lips so so close. Louis grapples with their hands slightly, rearranging into nothing, and then kisses Harry again, and Harry is melting, he thinks, this is what it feels like to melt.

He still does nothing though. But then Louis shifts even closer to him, makes to curl his legs up under him so that he can be even closer to Harry, as though considering climbing on top of him.

One of Louis' hands comes up to touch gingerly at Harry’s face with trembling fingertips, and he strokes his thumb along the line of his jaw.

“Please” he whispers once, right into the treacherous skin of Harry’s lips, and that’s when Harry gives up.

There’s a moan of relief, when he kisses Louis back, hard, but who it belongs to Harry has no idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> I'm going to Amsterdam tomorrow (wooooo!!), so I made this chapter extra long as I probably won't be posting again until Saturday. 
> 
> Thank you for reading !! :)


	22. Part Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to you for reading.  
> This is all a lie.

**Chapter Twenty Two**

He’s kissing Harry.

He’s kissing Harry.

Harry is kissing him back, with a mouth that is hot and soft and welcoming, and Louis is kissing Harry. 

Harry sighs into his mouth, and Louis registers that he has got both of his hands in Harry’s hair now, is petting vaguely as if trying to communicate affection that way too. When Louis kisses him again (and really, what is the word ‘again’, anymore?) he lets his fingers trail down, and rubs softly at the nape of Harry’s neck, because he’s there, and he’s right underneath Louis' fingers, and Louis just wants to revel in the difference.

Every other moment in Louis' life, Harry hasn’t been underneath his fingertips, and now he is. 

It’s a significant difference.

Harry is pressing forward now, not taking more from Louis, but rather asking Louis to take more from Harry, and Louis wants so much, right now, it is sort of ridiculous.

Harry’s kisses don’t taste of anything other than a lingering hint of coffee, but his kisses  _ feel _ of a lot of things, like honesty and sincerity and a whole lot of pent up emotion.

Louis wonders what his kisses feel like. Probably things that he doesn’t want to discuss yet and Louis is cursing them for their betrayal already.

Harry’s hands are on him now, resting hesitantly on his waist. Louis remembers that he’s got his legs folded underneath him awkwardly, and they have probably gone numb by now. Louis cannot tell if they actually have gone numb or not because every part of him has gone numb, except for the parts of him that are currently in direct contact with Harry.

He’s still kissing Harry, in the same way that he assumes that he is still breathing - it seems to have reached some automatic level in which Louis doesn’t even need to think about it in order for it to keep happening.

It is  _ easy _ , to keep kissing Harry. If he keeps on kissing Harry then nothing else can happen. Not now. Possibly not ever.

Harry’s hands are gaining in firmness, and are becoming steady, and all Louis really wants is for Harry take over, because he feels like he’s exhausted all of his initiative quota for the next few years.

Louis rearranges his legs, somehow, but now he is kneeling on the couch, over Harry who is still just sitting, turned awkwardly towards him. Harry has to tip his face up towards him to maintain the kisses now. Louis remembers that he tried to kiss Harry’s neck last night, and that’s why his fingers end up on the soft skin there, dragging down softly, and Harry moans quietly in response.

Louis kisses him again, from his new position of height, and then he feels Harry smile into the kiss.

Louis laughs slightly, and he’s cupping Harry’s face now, and this is all so easy, dangerously easy.

“Well, I don’t know - can you just..”

They’re whispering the words into each others skin, but it doesn’t stop it from feeling so friendly, as if they’re about to burst into a fit of giggles. 

“What, where do you want me to go?”

“I don’t know, just be somewhere different. In a different place. Still here, but-”

Harry kisses him again, and then tucks his legs up, so they are now at least facing each other. Harry wriggles down slightly, and after a moment of rearrangement Louis is kneeling above him, slightly giddy at how quickly this is going.

But the kisses. The kisses are undeniable, and after some slow minutes, his muscles start to feel the strain of holding himself up over Harry without making any contact whatsoever. Harry reaches up, and gently rearranges Louis' hair, kissing the side of his mouth rather his actual mouth.

“Hey. Control your hair.”

It’s a stupid thing to say, and so Louis murmurs ‘shut up’, and then reaches down to Harry’s neck, kissing with an open mouth. Louis enjoys the way that Harry exhales without any semblance of control.

Harry presses upwards, whilst grazing his hands over the small of Louis' back and providing gentle pressure, and Louis yields to it, sinking down into the warmth of Harry. 

He stops though, because he’s tired, emotionally tired, and as much as the kisses are so much, right now, they’re also maybe too much.

Harry responds instantly, wrapping his arms around him in a hug, and Louis presses his face in the crook of Harry’s neck, sighing contentedly. Harry presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“This was not how this conversation on the couch was supposed to end.”

Louis snorts after a second, and presses closer.

“I kissed you last night, here.”

Louis nudges Harry’s skin with his nose at the appropriate spot, indicating. He feels Harry stretch slightly, underneath him.

“Yeah.”

“You told me to stop.”

Harry’s hand rubs his back gently.

“Yeah - I didn’t want you to do things when you weren’t fully with it, you know. When your head was still focused on, you know. Other stuff.”

And there it is. Suddenly Louis has to think about Eleanor, when he’d managed fifteen glorious minutes with just Harry in his head.

“I was only thinking about you, okay? It feels like I’ve only been thinking about you for the last… I don’t know.”

Harry keeps rubbing, maybe to try and soften the impact.

“You keep talking about Eleanor though.”

Louis bites his lip, and then nods his head once, feeling helpless.

“I just… yeah. I was. Um. I guess it was so I didn’t keep saying what I wanted to say.”

It’s maybe not the answer that Harry wants to hear, but Louis doesn’t think that he has an answer that works very well at all. Especially when his next sentence has to be “I should go. I can’t have Niall coming over here, and that’s probably what will happen if I ignore him for any longer.”

Harry nods a couple of times, and then murmurs, “Well that’s good because your frame is now crushing the life out of me, so-”

Louis finds one of his hands, and flips Harry off, before levering himself upwards.

Harry watches him, as Louis regains his balance, and moves carefully around the room, gathering his various items from around Harry’s flat. He sits up, when Louis comes over, and stands awkwardly in front of him.

“So. Thank you.”

Harry rubs his hands over his knees once, before standing up, looking dazed.

“Say hi to Niall for me, will you?”

Louis nods, and then almost dissolves, when Harry leans down, and kisses at the corner of his mouth, softly.

“Thank you for the kisses. I liked them.”

Louis nods a couple more times, and then murmurs “Me too.”

There’s a helpless, helpless moment of nothing, and then Louis gestures at the door.

“I should go.”

“Sure.”

“But I’ll call you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“No, I really will. I promise.”

Harry grabs at Louis' hand, and squeezes once.

“I know Louis. I trust you.”

…

Louis floats back to his flat.

There’s no other word for it, nothing else makes sense. Louis doesn’t remember anything of the half hour journey, except for the fact that he keeps touching his lips, as though astonished that Harry was just there, moments before.

His body wants, and he’s turned on, he’s so turned on. But the discrepancy between how his body is feeling and how his brain is feeling is disconcerting. His body wants to turn around and climb back on top of Harry and pick things up where they left off. 

His brain knows that he has to call Niall now, because Niall had been insistent whilst also deeply contrite, and that never spells good things.

His flat is cold despite the sunshine outside, and Louis moodily pokes at his storage heaters, before recognising that he is just stalling for the sake of it. So he collapses onto the bed that doesn’t smell like Harry, and presses the appropriate buttons on his phone to bring Niall to his ears.

Niall answers with a quick “Tommo. I think I fucked up”, and Louis can feel his heart clench with panic automatically, because everything is finely balanced and many things can go wrong.

“Jeez Niall, ease me into the conversation please, at least a little.”

“No, I’m going for the approach of jumping into a cold pool, you know? Get it over quick.”

Louis sighs, and then closes his eyes, trying to brace.

“Okay, fine. Go.”

“So I was talking to Eleanor-”

“Okay, stop. Why were you talking to Eleanor?”

Niall sighs, and has the decency to sound contrite. “Oh, you know. It was late, and I’d had a few celebratory drinks, and then I kind of had a dazzling insight in which I realized I hadn’t spoken to your mom in  _ forever _ , which is terrible because you know that we are best friends…”

Louis groans, already three steps ahead.

“But Eleanor was there too.”

“Yeah, and your mom was all ‘oh speak to Eleanor, you two were so close’ which I’m sure is just something you have planted in her head when you were being Team Eleanor…”

“Yeah, okay-”

“But I was like  _ sure _ , because I’m always game for a heart to heart. But then the conversation got away from me slightly, and Eleanor was asking all the wrong questions…”

“Niall, is there a short version of this?”

“This  _ is  _ the short version, but okay, the headlines are basically that I told Eleanor you were seeing other people. Dating.”

Louis stays quiet for a moment, and Niall clarifies “Accidentally.”

“What, I’m accidentally dating?”

“No, I accidentally told her.”

“Oh.” Louis still isn’t sure what to say, and so turns it over in his mind for a moment. “What did she say?”

“Um. Not much. She was doing her silently noble approach. While I was, um. Supportively explaining to her why the pair of you are better off separate if she can’t make you happy.”

Louis breathes out slowly, in an attempt to avoid swearing.

It doesn’t work.

“Shit. Niall. You can’t just wade in like that, she’s going to be all up in my inbox again asking all the questions.”

Niall sighs, but does sound apologetic.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place. But maybe when Eleanor does ask questions, maybe you should just answer them. Even if you aren’t anything with Harry, you haven’t wanted to be anything with Eleanor for over six months now - do you really think that feeling is going to go away?”

“It isn’t that easy though… we have a mortgage, and our whole family is wrapped up in each other, and-”

“So it’ll be difficult. You sound like a stuck record Louis. Are you really going to go back to Eleanor and try and make it work because you think it is the easy option? Or are you still pretending that you love her?”

Fucking hell, sometimes Niall puts all the right words together at once, and Louis wobbles into a confession of sorts.

“She’s my friend - I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Oh, I think that ship might have sailed. And I have a heap of friends, but that doesn’t mean that I’m planning to spend my life with them.”

Louis frowns, and then shivers abruptly, before snuggling further down into his hoodie. He remembers suddenly that he’s still wearing Harry’s clothes.

“I wish you hadn’t told her I was dating.”

“So tell her I was talking shit! That really isn’t the point and you know it.”

Louis bites at his lip, very aware that Eleanor wouldn’t see things that way at all.

…

Harry thinks his heart might be doing a silly thing.

Louis hasn’t contacted him, but that’s  _ fine _ , his heart tells him, because all of today was maybe quite a lot of each other. Louis is probably busy.  _ Maybe _ he’s doing whatever he needs to do in order to get this whole Eleanor thing out of his system.

His bed smells of Louis. In fact, maybe his whole flat smells of Louis. This isn’t an entirely bad thing, Harry decides, as he walks around his flat in a daze, picking up random objects and putting them down in exactly the same place.

It’s probably a bad idea, but Harry’s feeling lucky enough to allow a little optimism. Maybe this one does work out. Even though Louis is the lonely straight boy, and Harry knows how this goes, maybe this one doesn’t go like that. Why not?

It’s with a hopeful heart that he logs onto Skype that night.

“Hey Ed. Guess what?”


	23. Part Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to you for reading.  
> This is all a lie.

Unfortunately, Louis comes to the slow but inevitable conclusion that kissing Harry had made him feel guilty.

And, if he is really honest with himself, every time that he had sent a text message, or spent a little too long thinking about Harry, or had plotted elaborate methods to try and kiss him, Louis had felt guilty. 

Because he felt like he was cheating on Eleanor.

And a person can only feel like they are cheating on someone if they are actually in a relationship with someone, and  _ goddamnit _ mental algebra, way to betray someone at the worst possible time.

Louis inserts another fistful of tortilla chips into his mouth, glaring grumpily at the framed picture which is still on his floor because he is incompetent and Eleanor isn’t around to hang it up.

And all he really needs to do is break up with Eleanor, probably.

But that sounds difficult and painful, because Eleanor hasn’t done anything wrong, not really. And Louis isn’t that eager to be the bad guy in all of this.

And Eleanor is far away, and Harry is close, and Harry is only going to find out if Louis tells him about the unsettled, ‘still happening though actually not’ nature of his relationship with Eleanor.

Great, and now Louis feels like he is cheating on Harry as well.

Surely he’s allowed to enjoy things for a  _ little while _ before he has to face up to the consequences.

Things have been difficult, recently. Louis feels like he is due a bit of easy, surely?

Although he really should Skype Eleanor at some point, if only to lie pointlessly.

It can probably wait until tomorrow though.

…

Harry could swear that Mr Johnson rolls his eyes when he gets on the train, and Harry is surprised at the hidden depths of sass that Mr Johnson has up his sleeve. Because it takes a hardened sort of sass vigilante to roll their eyes at the width of someone’s smile on a Monday morning.

Harry puts all this to one side though, because the  _ reason _ that he had been smiling is standing opposite him, smiling back shyly.

“Hey Harry.”

“Hi Louis.”

They don’t say much more than that, because this carriage is crowded and now they orbit each others lives easily, and don’t have to do all their talking to an audience of strangers. Louis stands slightly closer to Harry than is really necessary, and Harry enjoys the way that he can watch Louis blush without having to worry about being caught.

They travel in silence until the train slides to a halt at a station, and the noise of the announcements covers them. Louis glances over at Harry, and then looks away, biting his lip.

“Stop it” he mumbles.

Harry looks down at his feet, apologetic.

“Sorry.”

Passengers pile on, and they’re forced together even closer. Harry’s restless heart thinks he can sense Louis' body heat now, even though he isn’t looking so blatantly anymore.

Louis' hand comes groping for his, and Harry’s fingers get squeezed once.

“No but, I didn’t actually want you to stop.”

“Louis, it would probably seem a bit weird if I looked at you now, we’re standing too close.”

“You could kiss me, instead.”

Harry is pretty proud of himself for the way that he manages not to moan inappropriately on public transport, but instead just slides his finger tips down the length of Louis' fingers, before removing his hand. He whispers, “If I were to kiss you right now it wouldn’t be the sort of kiss that is acceptable in front of strangers.”

Louis closes his eyes briefly, and this is the sort of game that Harry can play all day, the one of who can wind the other up the most.

“Quite a lot of me doesn’t care who is watching.”

It isn’t really okay to be this turned on whilst surrounded by strangers, and Harry needs this little encounter to be over soon otherwise he is going to be dealing with a significant issue for the rest of the day.

It’s Louis' stop next. Louis shifts slightly away from him, which makes it easier to think, and hitches his bag up higher on his shoulder. He clears his throat.

“Come have lunch with me. Today.”

Harry gulps, and then nods, maintaining eye contact even as it ruins him.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Where?”

“I’ll text you.”

…

Harry can’t do anything all morning.

His lips burn, somehow. Tingle, probably, but it feels like they burn, with a need for Louis. To the extent that he actually checks his reflection a couple of times in his phone’s camera just to confirm that it is a figment of his imagination

He’s in far too deep.

From Harry’s past experience, things which feel this good this fast are dangerous. He associates the feeling with freewheeling down a hill on a tricycle, unaware of the crash at the bottom.

He messages Louis first, because it is probably too late to worry about looking eager.

_ Where? When? _

Louis texts back a cafe that they both know almost instantly, and Harry breathes out slowly.

Slow, he thinks. Slow is important.

(Everything has been far too slow, lately.)

…

They meet by almost running into each other, because Harry rounds a corner too quickly, and Louis is checking his phone rather than looking ahead.

“Oh shit,  _ hi _ .”

Louis almost looks cross, somehow; he’s frowning at Harry like he is an unsolvable problem. Harry apologizes automatically.

“Sorry.”

Louis frowns at him, and then looks over his shoulder, distracted.

“Why do you keep apologi- nevermind. We’re going in here.”

“Where - Louis that’s a clothing store.”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t, they don’t serve food.”

Louis nods, but he is already in the store, striding past racks of clothes. He picks up a pair of jeans from the front of a rail without looking at them. Harry trails behind him, confused.

“You know that those aren’t edible, right?”

“Hi, could I try these on - he’s here for a second opinion.”

The sales assistant looks confused, and Harry wants to nod and to say “me too”. But the moment passes, because Louis is leading and Harry is following.

“Louis, this really isn’t going to provide us with any kind of lunching options.”

“Harry, are you really thinking about lunch right now?”

Louis whispers it pointedly at him, as he closes the changing room door behind Harry. Harry shrugs with one shoulder.

“I figure that it’s about fifty fifty whether you’ve hidden a sandwich in your bag or you are going to kiss me, so-”

“Those are terrible odds.”

“That depends on what kind of sandwich it is.”

“And that doesn’t even make sense.”

“I know, I’m finding it a little difficult to think clearly with you standing this close to me.”

The cubicle is small, and it would be pretty impossible for Louis to stand at the sort of distance needed for Harry to be able to think clearly. Louis looks at him, because there isn’t a lot of choice from this sort of distance. 

Louis is specifically looking at his lips, and Harry licks them automatically, and deliberately doesn’t kiss Louis. Because there’s a strange sort of delight, to watch Louis frown at him.

“Have you finished talking?”

Harry nods.

“I have. I’m now waiting for you to produce a sandwich.”

Louis closes his eyes momentarily, and reopens them with a sigh.

“Are you  _ deliberately  _ making this difficult?”

Harry grins, and then says “Yeah, get ready for a lot of that, because I can play this game for as long as-”

Louis kisses him then, and they are the best sorts of kisses, Harry thinks. The ones that people give him to make him shut up.

…

It’ll maybe never be enough, the time spent in a changing cubicle, with Louis leaning into him as though it is important that Harry is trapped against the wall.

Louis' hands cup either side of Harry’s face as they kiss, and the pads of his thumbs brush over his cheekbones every now and then, with almost no pattern behind the motion. It’s an innocent gesture, and it keeps Harry grounded, for those unthinking ten minutes.

But when they do get to the cafe they’d planned to meet at, Harry is feeling a little flustered and a little like the luckiest person on the planet.

Louis' hair is doing the thing and his lips are pinker than they normally are, and in this whole city it is only Harry who knows the reason. It is a very real sort of privilege. Louis glances down at the menu after a moment, biting his lip and smiling to himself.

“So that sandwich, huh? You gave me some signals to suggest that sandwiches were important to you.”

Harry stretches in his seat slightly, trying to come off as nonchalant and unphased by the way the theme has reversed from pretty heavy making out, back to sandwiches.

“You know, I feel it is my duty to let you know that I think the sales assistant was on to us.”

Louis smirks at him, and then looks away, out into the street. He seems… nervous, Harry decides. Harry looks away.

“Sorry.”

Louis tilts his head to one side, apparently baffled.

“No but, why do you keep apologizing?”

Harry shrugs, and says “I don’t know… in case I’m being inconvenient.”

Louis doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and there’s an awkward silence, in which Harry panics uselessly.

He clears his throat.

“I think…I mean, this is just me talking, but - protocol is that at this moment I hesitantly ask you out on a date, and then you hesitantly say yes, and then we do cute dates and take it from there. But if this is too fast, or, you know, dating a  _ boy _ or whatever is maybe scary, then we can figure something else out.”

Louis closes his eyes, and then refocuses on his menu.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are too straight-forward, sometimes?”

Harry nods, aware of his tendency to rush to the point when others prefer a more circumspect route.

“I know. I was just saying that… all things are cool. If you want this to not be a thing, then I’m okay with that, for a while.”

Louis is sighing and shifting in his seat and generally looking like he doesn’t want to be having this conversation, despite Harry’s best efforts. Harry tries not to feel rejected.

“So, these sandwiches, huh?”

Louis snorts slightly, and then nudges Harry’s foot with his own, under the table.

“Okay. I understand. I was just thinking… can this maybe just be a me kissing you thing, for the moment? I can’t- it’s a bit of a lot to suddenly switch to-”

Louis is blushing, and Harry prods at the back of his hand, once. Just for contact and to try and inject some lightness back into the conversation.

“Yes, of course. Sorry. I’m just a bit of a status freak - I’m too focused on knowing where I stand all the time, and I need to work on it.”

Louis looks steadily at him for a moment, and then rolls his eyes, smiling to himself.

“Okay, you also need to work on not apologizing all the time, because you really haven’t done anything wrong, so-”

Louis trails off, and Harry wonders why his heart is hurting so hard. 

Probably because he remembers the first time he started facing up to his attraction to boys. It was difficult, and he didn’t enjoy talking about it more than was necessary, in the first instances. That’s probably what Louis was struggling with.

“So- sandwiches?”

Louis breathes a sigh of relief, and then nods at him.

“Yeah - sandwiches.”

…

Louis  _ has _ to Skype Eleanor, that night- he can’t put it off any longer.

And of course Eleanor is tightly curt with him, and of course she gets straight to the point.

“Niall tells me you are dating.”

Louis hides behind the preciseness of the word, because he and Harry aren’t dating. They’re just two make out sessions in, for goodness sake.

“Okay, no I am not.”

The guilt blooms fast in his chest though. Because whatever it is, it isn’t being faithful to Eleanor. And now he realizes that he is going to break up with Eleanor, inevitably, but he doesn’t want to do it now. Because he’s stubborn, and he wants to do it on his own terms, and he’s a coward, basically.

Eleanor leans into the screen, as if she is trying to tell from his eyes whether he is lying.

“Niall thinks otherwise. I mean, what the fuck, I’m just supposed to stay here like some shmuck while you screw your way around London?”

And now Louis is angry, and it’s always easier to lie when he is angry, far easier than when he is just feeling guilty.

“Fuck off Eleanor, do you know me at all? It isn’t like that.”

Eleanor jumps on it though, because Louis is an idiot and shouldn’t join the CIA.

“What, isn’t like that Louis?  _ What? _ What is the thing, that isn’t like that?”

Goddamnit Niall, Louis doesn’t know how much Eleanor has been told. Louis stays quiet, playing for time, looking at Eleanor.

Eleanor is five years of his life. Eleanor is his house, and his home, and his joint bank account, and his mom and dad buying her gifts at Christmas, and Thanksgiving with her family.

“Are we over? Jesus Louis, just tell me we are over and then we can both-”

Louis flinches away from the responsibility.

“Eleanor, what the hell - why don’t you break up with me, why is it my-”

“Because I still  _ love _ you and I just here desperately hoping that this is all some kind of bad dream, and you are an idiot if you can’t see that.” 

He hates this. Louis hates it. He hates the fact that he is always the bad guy, somehow, next to marvellous Eleanor and her perfect blah. Eleanor continues, relentless.

“Are we playing by the same rules here? Or is it one standard of behavior for you, and an entirely different one for me? Cause I feel like I should be fully entitled to go out and live like I’m single until you decide to come home or whatever.”

Louis sighs heavily, sad at what they have become. 

This isn’t what they were supposed to be.

“Eleanor… It isn’t like that.”

Eleanor clears her throat suddenly, in the way that she does when words start getting difficult.

“Sure. Okay. I need to go now, before I say something I regret. So goodbye. Enjoy whatever the thing is that you won’t tell me about.”

She’s gone almost instantly, and Louis is left reeling at the sudden end to the argument. As though Eleanor was removing even the possibility of Louis breaking up with her.

He doesn’t have the slightest right to be angry at  _ Eleanor _ . But here he is.

His phone lights up, and Louis knows that it is Harry, instinctively.

Louis just wants things to be easy, right now.

And there’s the guilt, again.

…


End file.
